


Victor On Ice

by Artdefines06



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Episode 10 spoilers, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, I believe in the Yuuri who believes in Yuuri, I mean Yuri Plisetsky is in this, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sad Victor Nikiforov, What if Yuuri's skate hadn't been recorded and put on the internet, Yuuri just needed to be home for a bit, confidentish yuuri, do I need a language warning?, flirting is hard when you are depressed., still no eros to be found yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-09-06 01:42:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8729719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artdefines06/pseuds/Artdefines06
Summary: Yuuri scanned the words on the screen once, twice, three times. He hit refresh. He hit refresh again. Nothing changed. He could feel his breaths starting to shorten, so he jumped up and began to pace the room to let out the sudden adrenaline rush he could feel building. "What does this mean Minako? Why isn't his name there? Did they make a mistake? WHY ISN'T HIS NAME THERE!" Pacing wasn't working, so he sat back down to re-read the ISU Grand Prix preliminaries seeded skater confirmations. Victor Nikiforov's name was nowhere to be found.A gasp echoed through the room and in his peripheral vision Yuuri sew Minako's hand cover her mouth. Through her hand she read the headline on an article released moments ago from her phone."Five time world champion and leader in Men's Singles Ice Skating Victor Nikiforov not participating in new season - could this be the end of his reign?" Yuuri opened a new tab and found a dozen similar articles pop up. They all say the same thing. No comment from the skater or coach. He hasn't been seen at the rink in weeks. He won't be skating this season.Victor Nikiforov won't be skating this season.What was Yuuri supposed to do now?





	1. Unexpected Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor struggles with his daily lack of inspiration, and sees someone he hadn't expected to see again.

Victor stepped onto the ice and glided toward the center, hoping inspiration would hit him today. Lucky day...200 and something? He lost count a while ago, when the days began to blend together into bleak frustration. His home rink was empty; it was early morning before everyone would show up for practice and begin asking questions, offering advice, and worst, shooting him compassionate looks. The music playing was the faintest of melodies, only discernible when one is paying the least attention. He made a mental note to remind Yakov the sound system needed repair, and decided to focus on his skating rather than trying to hear the music, since it was only distracting him anyway. 

Victor’s body was performing the moves to a complicated routine, syncing perfectly with the mysterious music, but he was not actually in control of his body.

Ah, another dream then.

These dreams have been happening on and off for the last few weeks. The same dream, with tiny differences - sometimes the location would change, different rinks he had skated at throughout his life. Other times there would be a massive audience watching with baited breath, or his teammates standing at the sidelines judging him. The idea was always the same though - he was finally performing the perfect routine.

The routine that inspired every member of the audience to head to the nearest skating rink, strap on a pair of rental skates, and experience the simple joy of skating across the ice, giggling and clutching onto their loved ones so they don’t fall.

The routine that drive’s those who already skate, at any age or level of profession, to square their shoulders and double down on their training; not just so they could outrank him, but so they could skate more beautifully and give the audience the performance it deserves.

The routine that finally leaves him at peace, at a place where he feels he has done his best and can stop feeding the demon that drives him to neglect all else but skating.

Victor knows that the perfect routine exists. He knows it in his bones because here he is, performing it. If he concentrates hard enough he can just begin to pick out the moves, but cannot name them, as though they have never been done on ice before. 

Somewhere, off in the distance, a familiar buzzing sound played in the back of his mind. It interfered with the music and his movements became disjointed and stiff. The buzzing persisted and Victor looked around for the source, ready to remove it from his dream so he can get back to his routine. Without warning the ice beneath him cracks and splits, and thunder shakes the rink. A bolt of lightning shoots down from above and strikes Victor straight through his heart, turning his vision white. 

 

Victor found himself lying down after the lightning bolt and sat up quickly, trying to assess the damage. Everything around him was still white and hazy. His clothes seemed to have burned off and his skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat. Looking around he realized that the bright light was simply the hot summer sun coming in from his east facing window. He was safely at home in his bed, wrapped in soft blue and white sheets. It was only a dream…

The thunder and buzzing are revealed to be real a moment later. Apparently he has a visitor. The shaking he felt was Makkachin dancing circles around him on the bed to alert him that someone was at the door. So helpful, his sweet old pup. He pointed to the ground and she hopped down at once, skittering into the front room to wait by the door so she could pounce on whomever had arrived.  Not many people know his address, and only one would be so rude, loud, and impatient. As Victor cautiously put his feet on the cold cement floor and headed over to his dresser to find appropriate clothes, his hunch was proven correct.

His favorite angry teenage team mate’s screams could be heard from the other side of the door.

“Oi, Victor, it’s me! Open up, I need to talk to you!”

All his clothes drawers were empty, so with a sigh Victor pulled on some loose lounge-wear from the dirty clothes bin and padded into the living-room. The banging persisted but he ignored it in favor of quickly setting up his espresso machine, the movements habitual and relaxing. With the comforting sounds of the machine starting up he wandered over to the door and opened it just as the impatient youth raised his fist for another round of banging and buzzing.

Yuri Plisetsky quickly stomped past Victor into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. The teen knew to brace for impact as Makkachin jumped up to lick his face in greeting, moaning about the slobber even while showing the poodle affection before ordering him to his dog bed.

“Finally! I thought you were never going to answer! Is that coffee? Are you just now waking up? Why is there trash everywhere? How old is this pizza, urg, who orders pineapple on pizza? Its molding, throw it out!”

Victor watched silently as the teen blew through the kitchen and living room throwing take-out boxes into the trash and coffee stained cups into the sink with equal force. He blinked, just now realizing how messy it had gotten. When had that happened. Oh well….

“Victor, are you even listening to me?!” Plisetsky yelled, thrusting a fresh cup of coffee into his hands and shoving him down onto the couch. Victor allowed himself to be manhandled, not quite sure what had the teen so riled up this morning. It was still morning, right? Victor looked up at the surly face in front of him, and for the briefest of seconds detected the pity that he suspects lurks in everyone’s eyes recently. Before he can open his mouth to start the latest round of reassurances Plisetsky was ranting at him again.

“You can’t get mad at me for this, I’m doing it for your own good! Besides you owe me for telling everyone you skipped town that one time when you were really here moping, and I make sure to tell everyone that my new programs are choreographed by you so it looks like you are doing something with your life, although if you don’t start coming in again Yakov is going to start changing shit, he’s already making suggestions for tweaks, and you know his suggestions turn into ultimatums pretty quick so if you want to protect your work you need to listen to the pig so he can get your ass motivated and you can get back to the team and quit brooding because I’m sick of it! So, are you ready to meet him?”

Victor ran through everything the teen said in his head, twice, until he was sure he still has no idea what was happening or who he was supposed to meet. He has told his publicist no more interviews or photo shoots, right? Who else could want to see him?

“I apologize Yuri, but who am I going to see? What time is the appointment and what do I need to wear?” He put on his best innocent face, wide eyes and pouting lips. “You know how I am forgetful sometimes.”

Plisetsky looks back at him, a cross between fear and guilt on his face.

“You didn’t talk to Yakov, about having a visitor today? About the skater from Japan? Your number one fanboy here to see you?”

Victor shook his head no. He had been avoiding Yakov’s phone calls for over a month now, ever since the announcements went up…

The teen’s face quickly shifts from the white paleness of fear to the crimson anger Victor is more used to seeing on the boy. After several choice expletives Yuri pulled out his phone and brought up photo of an all too familiar Japanese skater - Katsuki Yuuri. Victor isn't sure where Yura obtained these pictures from last years grand prix banquet, but it only takes one photo to set of a chain of visceral memories. Toned muscles wrapped around a golden pole. Large hands gripping his neck and thigh as Katsuki dips him at the end of their dance. Red cheeks and large eyes sparkling as Japanese words wrap around him. These are things he has tried not to think about for months.

The image on the phone, in his memories, and Yuri’s words suddenly snap together, and Victor’s head whips up as he whispers hesitantly.

“ _This_ man is here to see _me_? Are you sure?”

Plisetsky huffs. “Am I sure that he came all the way from Japan, or am I sure that he is waiting in the hallway right now? Of course I’m sure idiot! So can I let him in or not?”

Victor feet himself agreeing, not quite against his will, but certainly before he had a definite opinion on the matter. It doesn’t matter though, since little Yura was already crossing the room much more quickly than his short legs should be able to carry him. The door was thrown open again and Plisetsky shouted into the hallway “You're up, pig!” before taking off out the door. Victor hears a mumbled thank you, followed by what he assumes is Yuri’s inside voice, which is still loud enough for him to hear. 

“Whatever pig. You better not mess this up or cry or any shit like that, he doesn't need your drama so keep it to yourself. No matter what happens you better be at the rink tomorrow so you can teach me that move, you owe me sooooo much after this.”

After that the only sound was standard teenage stomping down the hallway, then nothing.

Victor knew he should be doing something. He should stand up to greet his guest, put on a smile, pretend his heart isn't pounding...but he can’t bring himself to move. Instead he simply braced for some sort of impact. Perhaps disappointment or a scolding? Most of what his body does these days is a mystery, he has so little control over himself. The grip he has on his mug tightened as Katsuki takes the final step forward into his doorway.

The first thing Victor sees are worn-in black and grey trainers. Then black jeans, rolled at the ankle, like the owner couldn’t bother to have them tailored properly. Long toned legs end in rounded hips and a slim waist. A maroon V-cut shirt clings to lithe muscles, and willowy arms which clearly have the grace of ballet training (but Victor knows have the strength to hold his own body off the ground like he was weightless). His hands move restlessly from being jammed in pockets up to tug at thick black hair nervously, then are jammed back in pockets again. It only takes three sinuous steps for Katsuki to be standing in front of Victor where he was still sitting on the couch. Abruptly a hand appeared in front of his face. Sadly, Victor cannot find the strength to remove his hands from his coffee cup, where they were firmly planted and shaking slightly. The most he could bring himself to do was look up apologetically, opening his mouth to say...nothing at all. The determined face of the man standing above him took his breath away. Katsuki looked like he is about to challenge the devil to a duel, or face a dragon in battle. Instead, he simply spoke in clear and unbroken English.

“Hello, my name is Katsuki Yuuri. It is an honor to meet you.”

Luckily, Victor was saved from having to respond when his hero, Makkachin, plowed into the unsuspecting skater from the side, sending him to the floor in an ungraceful pile of man and dog. Katsuki laughed delightedly as he tried to fend off the licking poodle and the sight made Victor smile. It takes him a second to realize its a genuine smile, the first in long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were several inspirations for this piece. 
> 
> The idea came from this post http://pinklester.tumblr.com/post/153700379816 , which says what if victor never saw yuuri's video. I'm tweaking it to what if the video was never uploaded at all, but the idea is the same.
> 
> Confident Yuuri gives me life, and while Victor is bringing it out of him, I don't think Victor is the only one who could. From the first episode Yuuri is bringing himself out of his depression, and I think being around his friends and family again, being home, would have helped a lot, so I wanted to explore what it would be like if Victor never showed up.
> 
> Same, I really wanted to explore Victor without Yuuri and without inspiration. While he does seem like the type to go seek out things to make him happy, clinical depression can be a bitch and take the will to be yourself away from you.
> 
> Victor's dream of the perfect routine was inspired by this quote from the choreographer of Yuri on Ice.  
> "Miyamoto-sensei hopes that Yuri!!! on ICE will trigger a spread in the young people participating in the sport.  
> I hope that this anime will bring people closer to figure skating. I want them to go to the rink and jump onto the ice. It’s fine even if they end up just trying it for the experience. And if they enjoy it, then I hope that they will continue skating."
> 
> *Major edits on 4/8/2017 as people are finding and binge-reading this fic and there are still errors and I might cry. 
> 
> Feel free to chat with me in the comments or on tumblr https://artdefines06.tumblr.com/


	2. Home at Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri returns home and has to make some difficult decisions on how to continue his career. He needs a new coach, new programs, and some motivation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare to re-live all the episode one angst you know and love, but this time without Victor showing up to save the day.  
> If you aren't interested in my interpretation, that's cool, skip forward to Week Three for new material.

**Week One**

Yuuri slowed down out of the last spin, arms crossed and back arched, and stared at the bright lights above the rink. He could feel the sweat drip down his neck as he said his usual silent thanks to Victor for creating such a magnificent program to skate. To his left he heard Yuuko take in a deep breath before she began banging on the side of the rink from excitement.

“THAT WAS SOOOOO COOL! A perfect copy of Victor! Awesome!” She giggled in ecstasy, and Yuuri remembered all the reasons he left so easily for Detroit. That was years ago though and the hurt has faded to a dull ache that he barely registers now.

Yuuko was still smiling and laughing. “I thought you would be depressed or something?!”. 

“I was, but then I got bored of being depressed, so I got to thinking...” He explained about how he remembered skating along to Victor’s programs with her. He knows that the simple words he used don’t adequately convey the happiness in the memories he has, or the pride she would make him feel when she would compliment him, or the urge he would get to hold her when they did well together. He could see in her face though that she remembered as well. Yuuko knows him, even after all these years, and he could trust her to understand him.

That doesn’t stop him from staying in the center of the ice though, where he was safe. Even if it meant he has to speak louder than this confession called for.

“Yuuko, I’ve always..." He gulped and took a deep breath, calming himself and his nerves. "I've always wanted to apologize to you. I’m sorry that I left here five years ago without saying goodbye. It was wrong of me, and neither you or Nishigori deserved that from me. I’m sorry that it took too many years to be able to talk to you again, and that by the time I found the courage I had missed so many important moments in your life. There are so many events I missed because I was weak and stubborn. So many birthdays and anniversaries...There is so much gone that I will never be able to see again.”

He paused to look up and saw his childhood friend and first crush crying, her hands cupping her nose and wiping away tears as quickly as they fell. The old yearning to hold her in his arms panged in the back of his mind but he knew it wasn’t his place. The most he could do now was try to fix his mistakes.

“I’m staying now though. I’m not going to miss anything more. I want to see you happy with Nishigori, and see the girls grow up, and see my parents grow old together. It may not seem like a lot but it’s more than I have allowed myself to have for the last five years."

Yuuri lapsed into silence. That was all he had practiced saying in front of the mirror, and he didn’t know what else to do now. He stood awkwardly in the rink, watching Yuuko clean up her face.

After a few minutes Yuuko took a deep breath in. When she spoke she sounded less like the bubbly teen he grew up with and more like grown woman with a husband and three children.

“Yes, Yuuri, I think that sounds like a great plan. We will be happy to have you here at Ice Castle, and in our home to celebrate with us. Thank you.”

There was one more moment of respectful silence, and then she broke out into one of the sunny smiles he remembers so well.

“Come over here and take your skates off and tell me all about the Grand Prix! What was Detroit like? And Sochi? Did you eat any crazy food? Do you miss the food here? Tell me everything!”

Yuuri was relieved that things seemed to be back to normal, and he skated over to give in to her demands.  When she finally got around to asking if he met Victor he found himself quickly changing the subject. That was a wound he wasn’t ready to open yet.

“So, where are your husband and the girls?” He asked smoothly to sidetrack her.

Yuuko’s eyes lit up as she began to discuss her favorite subject, her family. “They are at home. I told them all to stay home and watch the competition live, otherwise I would find them awake at three in the morning looking for recaps online. They steal my laptop and think I don’t know it’s missing from my room, or that I can’t hear their whispers through the walls. They cheered for you all season ya’know, even though they have only met you briefly on facetime. Surprisingly, Nishigori tells them more stories about you than even your parents do! He’ll be happy to have you back too, I think he misses teasing you.”

They talked for a while more, until Yuuko started to yawn. Yuuri demanded she go home to her family, and he began the journey back to the onsen. As he traveled the stars seemed a little brighter above him and he felt hope that he had made the right decision to leave Detroit and return to his roots.

 

**Week 2**

Minako left him alone for two whole days before she couldn’t stay away any more. When he told her he was taking time off to figure out what he wanted to do she groaned exasperatedly.

“I get it! I really do. Don’t forget though, once you figure out you want to skate again, you are going to regret not getting back in shape sooner. This is all time lost when you could be working on your new programs. Invitations for the new season go out in June, so you will have to work fast to find a new coach, and possibly a new choreographer. Oh, and we have to find you a new costume designer. What were they thinking with all those awful ruffles? You work on getting in shape and I will pull together a list of names for you to interview by next week.”

Yuuri thought about her excitement to help him and it reminded him of easier days, when he was just a kid that she carted around to local competitions. She would show off her student proudly, even when he didn’t win. He missed those days, when his parents would be in the audience and he would glimpse their smiling faces as he showed off his newest skills, then chatting with the other skaters after a competition over ramen and hearing everyone talk about what they wanted to change and improve. That sort of thing didn’t happen at the level he had been skating at recently. Choreography and tricks were closely guarded secrets, and no one truly helped each other because it was all about rankings and money earned from winning.

For a brief moment he thought of Yuri Plisetsky, screaming and threatening him in a bathroom at only fifteen years old. When he was fifteen he had just been excited about being allowed to wear a ninja costume for his newest routine. Maybe his late start was the reason he didn’t have the right drive to compete, why his nerves over-rode his confidence. Maybe to be number one you had to be cut-throat and cold, and not even know your fellow competitors by face, and offer to take a fan photo with them when they were clearly in the section for press and competitors only and had a badge around their neck…

No. Yuuri didn’t truly believe that about Victor. It had just been a mistake. No one could skate that beautifully, putting their heart and soul on the ice for the world to see, and not be a good person. Yuuri personally knew what it took to skate “Stay Close to Me”; what it took out of you each time you did it properly. The pain you had to allow to the surface at the start and the hope that needed to show through at the end required an honesty he was still working on being able to demonstrate with his friends and family off the ice. Victor had indirectly helped him with that.

Victor had been helping him without knowing it his whole career.

As Yuuri stood on the balance beam on his backyard watching the cherry blossoms fall he looked out over the city he grew up in, ankle strengthening exercises forgotten, and wondered what he needed to continue skating alone in a world where Victor didn’t know he existed yet.

These thoughts continued to haunt him as he watched the recording of the performance he missed the week before, where his idol won his fifth consecutive World Championship. Yuuri was not surprised, he knew the routine backwards and forwards and knows other competitors could not touch it.  He melted watching Victor kiss his medal, and rolled his eyes at Victor’s “I’m mysterious and don’t know what I’m going to do next year” act during the interviews. He did the same thing last year, keeping the whole ice-skating world on their toes until he pulled out another amazing set of routines. Yuuri wasn’t convinced last year, and he wasn’t going to fall for it this year either.

Later that night he sat on the floor of his room, walls still covered in the posters of Victor he put up as a teen and could not bring himself to take down. He knew that Victor, and all the other competitors, were already working hard this year to win. Victor had four quads in his last program, so anyone that wanted to be competitive had to have them as well. That was what Victor did to ice skating; he constantly challenged the status quo and upped the stakes. Minako was right - if Yuuri to skate on the same ice as Victor again, and be noticed this time, he needed to make some serious decisions.

**Week Three**

Minako sent Yuuri over twenty emails throughout the next week, each filled with recommendations for every personnel position. Five years ago when all Yuuri had wanted to do was leave he had chosen Detroit because Celestino had a fail-proof method to raise his scores to competitive numbers, and a long list of positive references. The coach had promised to take care of everything from workout regimes to costumes for Yuuri, which was great since Yuuri didn’t know what was good or bad back then.

Yuuri barely spoke the first year he was in Detroit; not only because his English was still a bit rough, but because he was overwhelmed by all the new people he had to interact with every day. Luckily Celestino pretty much left him alone as long as he followed the schedule. By the second year Yuuri could feel how much more precise his skating was, and worked up the nerve to thank Celestino after practice. From that day forth they were able to communicate more smoothly. Year two was spent passing his junior level exams and perfecting his triples, so he could debut straight as a senior due to his age. Year three he spent climbing the ranks of men’s singles and making his first real friend in America, his new roommate Phichit. As promised, by year four his scores were high enough to get his first invitation to the Grand Prix series. He had made it to the same ice as Victor. Celestino had a big dinner party with all the students to celebrate.

For years Celestino had asked Yuuri for ideas, and Yuuri declined the opportunity because he didn’t want to make a bad decision. His first Grand Prix was different though; Yuuri had planned his debut on the same ice as Victor the way most girls plan their wedding. He could picture it all in his head; the routine, the costume, the moves. Sadly, when he would go to tell someone about it his words would dry up and he would just stand there with an open mouth.

In the end Yuuri let Celestino choose the short program to buy himself time. He was going to produce his free program though, just like Victor did. When someone asked “Wow, that was amazing, who’s idea was that?” he wanted to take at least partial credit. Without Celestino’s knowledge he had the music demo he wanted made, and while it wasn’t perfect it was a first step. There was plenty of time to refine it. The costume sketches were done by him and they were messy but he would be able to explain them. He knew he wanted more quads, and for his step sequences to be tighter. He knew he had to go beyond his current limits if he was going to be on the podium.

That was when the “Are you sures'?” started. The music was first. Celestino looked at him, brows furrowed, and asked, “Are you sure this is what you want?”, and suddenly Yuuri wasn’t. Celestino had not made a bad decision for him once in years; what did Yuuri know about what would win and what wouldn’t?

Then came the choreography. All season Yuuri would ask to push harder, and Celestino would tell him to pull back. Are you sure you want to put that jump at the end? Are you sure you want to include that move in your step sequence, it’s a bit feminine? Are you sure you want to end in that position it’s not as impressive as this one. Celestino showed him how unprepared he actually was to produce his own work, without ever actually saying so. Slowly it chipped away at what little confidence he had developed over the years. He stopped making suggestions. He only sighed a little at the ruffles on his costume. At least it was blue. Or, had blue on it. It was fine.

The worst part was knowing that his program, even at its best, couldn’t score past 280. True, he had never scored that high with it, but that wasn’t the point. Victor hit 300 or more in both preliminary rounds. Yuuri watched as each competitor added 10, 15, 20 points onto their score every time they performed. Larger jumps, cleaner movement, elements switched around to work the point system. Celestino disapproved. Just skate the program the way “we” choreographed it. It will get you on the podium. It occurred to Yuuri when Celestino said this a week before the final that Celestino never intended for him to win gold. Not this year at least. It wasn’t part of the foolproof plan laid out for him. Maybe worlds. Maybe next year. Maybe someday but not now, now just skate the best you can. Yuuri went into the finals knowing that unless he disobeyed his coach, he could not win. To change the program elements now was risky, and stupid, and maybe Celestino was right since he had never been wrong…

Then Vicchan passed, and what was the point of trying so hard. Maybe at worlds, maybe next year. Every jump he debated a second before he kicked off how much force to put into it and what type of jump it would have to be for him to win, but his body couldn’t decide and would end up doing a strange amalgamation of movements that left him slumped on the ice. He could somehow hear the camera clicks over his music and could picture the headlines being read by his family, and that would ruin the next jump. Then it was over and there was no way to go back.

So it was little wonder that Yuuri avoided looking at the lists, and made no phone calls, and deleted emails from coaches that promised him the world.

 

**Week Four**

One night, tired of waiting for an response, Minako dragged him to her snack shop and sat him down at the bar. She set a large tokkuri in front of him, and told him that for every question she asked that he refused to answer he would have to drink a small cup of Sake. It had been such a long and stressful week that Yuuri hesitantly agreed. He was great at withholding information, even from someone as scary as her. He would play along, get a nice buzz going, and then say goodnight.

The questions started easy.

"Do you want to keep skating?"

Yes

"Do you want to win competitions?"

Yes

"Do you want to leave Japan again?"

_No_

The force of his no surprise both of them, and Minako gave him a gentle smile before she continued.

“Have you been working out as hard as you should be to compete this year?”

Yes.

They both knew it was a lie, and he drank without prompting.

"Did you look at the list of people I gave you?"

Yuuri hesitated, wanting to say yes, but not wanting to lie, and she made him drink, refilling his cup while she ranted about how much work she put into reaching out to all those people and how great they all were. 

"Why did you leave Celestino?"

The statement he had been telling the press for months rolled off his tongue, about differences in artistic choices and needing to try something different, for both of them. Minako snorted her disbelief and asked if he really expected her to buy that. He shook his head and took his drink. What would she say about the truth? She was staring at him expectantly, and he knew he wouldn’t get much past her.

“I hated him, at the end. He made me feel incompetent, then was surprised when I failed. He was already spending more time training Phichit than working with me after the Grand Prix, even though I was still entered in events. He had already given up on me and I knew it. He didn't even show up at Nationals...”

Minako looked at him, shocked, and apologized. Yuuri shrugged, he was over it already. He just didn’t know what to do now. Minako took out another cup from under the counter, and he poured a drink for her.

“Why did you bomb so badly last season? _All_ the reasons, if you leave something out, I’ll know.”

Yuuri nodded, the sake starting to make him feel warm, and told her what he knew. The feeling that his programs weren’t good enough, the passing of his dog (which she drank to), his weight problems, his increasing frustrations at watching Celestino begin to favor Phichit, his anxiety which was only worsened by the other problems...By the time he was finished he felt lighter, but maybe it was the alcohol. Minako must have felt pity for him, because she moved onto an easier question.

“What was it like meeting the other skaters? Did you make any friends? What's Christophe like?”

Yuuri laughed, telling stories about Chris being handsy and Plisetsky yelling at him for sharing a name. He told her about JJ crowing that he was going to defeat Victor and then losing to the living legend by nearly fifty points, which was his favorite part of the whole experience. He grew quiet remembering the moment and his fierce pride that Victor hadn’t let that loudmouth, or anyone else, come close to his score.

“What about Victor, did you get to meet him?”

Yuuri didn’t say anything.

MInako made him drink

Yuuri said Victor was nice enough.

Minako made him drink

Yuuri said Victor was horrible and rude and ignored everyone and slept the whole competition, which was sort of the truth, but Minako saw past him anyway.

Minako made him drink.

Then she started to tell stories. Stories of a younger Yuuri who insisted on practicing only to Victor's songs, and learning Victor's moves, and promising her that one day he was going to be as graceful and dazzling as Victor. Stories he didn’t remember happening, but he could see himself saying the words far too easily. Yuuri thought about his room, covered in posters. Of course she would ask about Victor.

A voice cut through his musings. Oh yea, Minako was still here, still asking him questions.

“Yuuko told me you can skate a perfect rendition of Victor’s 'Stay Close to Me' - why?”

Yuuri laughed, imagining the two women talking about him. When he answered there was no hiding the truth.

“Because it’s perfect. Because I needed to feel close to him. Reaching for him makes me reach further than I can otherwise. I want to be strong enough to reach him.”

Minako quietly asked again. “Was he everything you thought he would be?”

Yuuri finally nodded. “He was ephemeral, and gracious, and he didn’t recognize me. I avoided him after that because I know I can never be enough for him to see me. It would take everything I have, and then some. I’m not strong enough. I’m weak next to him.”

Minako put the sake container below the counter, apparently deciding he had enough.

“You are not weak Yuuri. You are gentle and selfless and sweet, but you are not weak. If you are talented enough to skate his program, you are talented enough to speak to him as an equal. If he can’t be impressed by who you are, you shouldn't try to be anything else.”

She was silent for a moment.

“Let’s start over - why haven't you considered a new coach yet?”

Yuuri threw his arms in the air, becoming animated and emotional after six cups of sake.

“I don’t want to have to get to know someone new, to have them get to know me! All they know about me is I’m a failure anyway. What if they don’t like my ideas, and I just waste their time? I don’t want to be told what to do like a child, but I don’t want to look like a fool either.”

Minako laughs. “Yuuri, you never looked like a fool when you were in my ballet class. Even when you would try strange combinations of styles, or music that wasn’t traditional, I never stopped you because the way you move when your heart is into it is exquisite. Yuuko said she had never seen you skate so passionately as the other night when you skated Victor’s program. That is because you cared about it, and enjoyed it. You just need to create that feeling in your own work. We can find someone to help you do that.”

Yuuri dropped his head down into his arms dramatically, speaking into the counter. “I wish YOU could just be my coach, like when I was a kid...”

His back straightened and his arms reached out to latch onto Minako’s shoulders. “That’s it - YOU should be my coach again! You already know how to do all the paperwork, and you know lots of people who can help us, and I wouldn’t have to get comfortable with someone new. You already know my abilities, well, sort of, I can do a lot more than before, but I can show you. I won’t feel stupid making suggestions, I can produce my own work, I really just need a manager more than anything.”

Yuuri was up and pacing at this point, excited and babbling and unable to stop himself from saying stupid things he probably shouldn’t be saying.

“You can arrange where to stay when traveling, you are good at that, and you can meet all the skaters you want, and if they are rude to me you can yell at them, they will be scared of you! You won’t let me overeat but I won’t feel bad about arguing with you if I really want something.”

Yuuri ran toward the counter and leapt over it easily. Kneeling on the ground in front of Minako he dramatically placed his forehead onto the floor and outright begged.

“Please be my coach Minako, please. Please, please, please.

After about ten pleases Minako was able to drag him off the floor and take him home. She told him that if he still thought it was a good idea in the morning, she would consider it.

The next afternoon, Yuuri promised her he won’t regret it and neither would she. Minako promised she would make sure he would regret it, and then ordered him to double his workout while she registered with the JSF and ISU.

 

**Week Five**

Yuuri’s theme is strength. It scared him a little, but also inspired him to be courageous and resolute in what he wants.

Minako does not question his decisions outright, instead she makes him show her what his idea would look like. He needs to show her why he believes this music or movement is the best choice. Sometimes she is unconvinced and makes him bring her another idea, rather than dictating to him what else to do. He knows he succeeded when she tears up, or stares at him with her mouth open unable to speak for a minute.

Minako tells him that his goal this year wasn’t to win the Grand Prix - his goal was to make Victor notice him. Her reasoning is that if Yuuri is good enough to surprise and astonish Victor, he would win anyway. By the end of the second week he stopped blushing when he thought about it. He just looked at the posters in his room, and repeated the mantra Minako made him write out.

He was already an equal to Victor, and he was talented enough to be noticed and remembered.

Hopefully if he said it enough, he would begin to believe it.

 

**Week Eleven**

Minako popped open the champagne and poured two flutes, which Yuuri rolled his eyes at. He wasn’t sure why she was making such a big deal out of this, they already knew he would be invited to compete this season. Minako found a reason to celebrate everything though. They had just returned from their last exhibition show; a mini tour through six of the eight official skating blocks recognized by the JSF. Minako had sneakily convinced the people in charge that a goodwill tour to show off Japan’s ace would bring in fresh blood. In truth she organized it so that Yuuri could get some experience performing for fun again without the pressure of judges, and to re-create his image from someone who failed last year to a re-born national hero. Minako made sure he was paid enough to cover her income, travel expenses, and save up some money for himself. Making her his manager was the best decision Yuuri had ever made.

True, he still hadn’t perfected his quad salchow for some stupid reason. Minako bullied him into doing two of them every show, so that even if he flopped the first he could redeem himself on the second. Other than that he was allowed to do whatever he wanted, to any music he wanted, as long as he enjoyed himself. The audience had loved it, and the younger skaters from each region who performed in the shows with him all expressed their admiration, which made him feel like he deserved to be where he was; a member of the elite skaters who got to skate on the same ice as Victor.

The clock struck seven PM and he pulled up the ISU news page on his laptop. Minako sat next to him, already on her third flute of champagne.The new link to the GPF invitations appeared, and he loaded the page. There was his name, along with several familiar names from last year, and some new ones he was surprised to see. Phichit was there, which would be fun. Christophe was competing again, which made Minako shout praises to the gods. JJ and Otabek popped up, which meant he would have to work extra hard because they were probably upset about last year. Yuri Plisetsky spoke true when he said would be joining the senior ranks this year.

Yuuri scanned the names in the Russian list once, twice, three times. He hit refresh. He hit refresh again. Nothing changed. He could feel his breaths starting to shorten, so he jumped up and began to pace the room to let out the sudden adrenaline rush he could feel building.

"What does this mean Minako? Why isn't his name there? Did they make a mistake? WHY ISN'T HIS NAME THERE!"

Pacing didn't help, so he sat back down and began hitting the refresh page on the ISU Grand Prix preliminaries seeded skater confirmations. Victor Nikiforov's name was nowhere to be found.

A gasp echoed through the room and in his peripheral vision Yuuri saw Minako's hand cover her mouth. Through her hand she read the headline on an article released moments ago from her phone.

"Five time world Champion and leader in Men's Singles Ice Skating Victor Nikiforov not participating in new season - could this be the end of his reign?"

Yuuri opened a new tab and found a dozen similar articles pop up. They all said the same thing. No comment from the skater or coach. Victor hasn't been seen at the rink in weeks. Victor won't be skating this season.

Victor Nikiforov won't be skating this season.

What was Yuuri supposed to do now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update is late, but this chapter really got away from me. It's way longer than I imagined it, but it says everything I want to say, so it stays that way. 
> 
> I love Minako, she's one of my favorites in the show :)
> 
> It's not that I hate Celestino, I just reeeeeeaaaaaaly dislike him. sorry. 
> 
> Next chapter the re-invented Yuuri invades Russia, and I have decided to write it for Yurio's POV, so that should be fun. Update friday probably. If we are all alive after episode 10 that is. 
> 
> I look forward to you all telling me how long this freaking chapter was in the comments, or on tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/blog/artdefines06
> 
> *edit: I removed about a million comma's. Go me. Also I just have to say for the record that I wrote a dunk Yuuri begging for a coach before Episode 10. I just had the wrong coach lol. That's twice I have predicted stuff now (check out my other fic for my psychic "My Yuuri" moment )


	3. The Worst Day Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri Plisetsky has to deal with the fact that the living flop of a skater that has his name has decided to invade his skating space and ruin his week.

As Yuri Plisetsky sat in a cab with the fucking pig crybaby from Japan of all people, taking him to see Victor which he had sworn he would never do, he wondered if this could possibly be the worst day of his life. He looked back at how the week had descended into hell to try to figure out which day was the worst. It was better than making conversation.

He knows now that Monday wasn’t really _that_ bad. Somehow though, everything that had happened that day _felt_ like the worst thing that had _ever_ happened to him.

To start the day he had over cooked his eggs because he couldn’t find his favorite sunglasses - they had fallen beneath his nightstand and were now scratched. Since he couldn’t stand the thought of over-cooked eggs he spooned them into the cat’s food dish and left to head to the rink early. He still had some pirozhki in the breakroom fridge from yesterday. Then his damn pirozhki were gone. Some shithead must have a death-wish. He would find out who it was. Yuri always found out, and the offender always paid dearly.

Now he was pissed, and he knew from experience that he would continue to be pissed the entire day. As his teammates started trickling in they called out hello’s to him. He ignored them for the most part, snarling at those he particularly disliked. By the time practice began in earnest everyone knew what kind of mood he was in, and that they should steer clear of him for the day.

Except for Yakov. Yakov never gave two fucks about Yuri’s mood. Yakov looked at his youngest senior student, saw the anger simmering behind his eyes, and said two words guaranteed to send his mood spiraling further south.

“Agape today”

Yuri’s protests fell on deaf ears. It was Yakov’s way. Yesterday he had practiced his free skate, and it was best to let those moves settle into his body. So on top of being pissy and hungry, he had to pretend to be a fucking angel who felt all sappy and lovey and shit. Fuck. Why had he let Victor goad him into taking this piece.

“Well kitten, if it’s beyond your capabilities emotionally, I understand. We can find something simpler for you…”

Unfortunately the old man was right that it would surprise people, and his fangirls would love it. So he sucked it up and began to practice. Angrily, of course.

Hours later he had exercised most of his anger away, and was ready to faint from hunger. There was a vending machine in the lobby that sold Alenka bars, and that would tide him over until lunch. He shouldn’t have been surprised to find out that all the flavors he enjoyed, especially the hazelnut, were sold out. Only the dark chocolate remained, and dark chocolate was for old women and lunch stealers. He banged his head against the glass and wondered what he had done to deserve such treatment. Immediately he could hear his grandfather's voice chiding him.

“It’s bad luck to be so boastful about your skating Yuratchka. Why must you always say you are going to win before you have even performed? Better to be suspicious than assume your talent will do the work for you. Here, knock this wood Yuratchka, it will help you!”

Yuri looked at the wood support beam next to him, and turned away from it deliberately. He didn’t need luck, he needed to crush his opponents onto the ground with pure hard work. With that thought he decided to go bother Mila for some of her lunch, then get back to practicing.

Looking back on it, he should have just punched the wood. Maybe then his day wouldn’t have gone from bad to worse. No sooner had he turned away from the mocking vending machine/wood beam combo than he heard a snivelling, obnoxious voice he had hoped never to hear again. He turned around to see Yuuri Katsuki cowering under the oppressive stature of their security guard. Anton was chosen for his size and bulk, and seeing him tower over Katsuki almost made it worth having to see his face in the first place.

“Sorry, excuse me, how do I get to the..”

“I’m sorry sir, no tourists allowed. The public rink is three block south. Do you need a map?”

“No, thank you, I have an appointment, I need to get to the…”

Yuri was done watching them mess around, and didn't want to take the chance that the Japanese dipshit would charm his way past the door. Confidently he strode over and stood next to Anton, arms crossed and chin up.

“You heard the man, you aren’t allowed in here crybaby. Go back to whatever bathroom in Japan you crawled out of and leave us alone.” Yuri looked up at Anton for confirmation only to see the guard smirking down at him with raised eyebrows, almost as if to ask ‘What was _that_ about?’

In front of him Katsuki looked like he was about to cry. Again. This was perfect, nothing could have made this day better. For a second he thanked every deity he knew for sending Katsuki here just so Yuri could make him cry and send him back home. Then the man in front of him transformed before his eyes. With a deep breath his eyes closed and his shoulders went back, adding several inches to his height. When his eyes opened again they were filled with determination. Katsuki handed a folder from his messenger bag to the guard and stated in a loud voice “My name is Katsuki Yuuri, I am a skater from the Japanese Skating Federation, I am here to establish better relations between our country’s teams, and I have an appointment to speak with a media representative in fifteen minutes so please show me to their office.” He delivered this speech directly to Anton, and did not acknowledge Yuri at all. Anton looked down at Yuri, shrugged an apology, and told Katsuki to follow him.

As Yuri watched them walk away he wondered again why the universe hated him. Then he ran off to tell Yakov.

 

Yakov was possibly more angry than Yuri was, and that was the only shred of happiness Yuri had to hold onto. While the Japanese skater was taken on a tour of the training facility Yakov let the skaters know his rules.

1\. Only talk to Katsuki if you wish to.

2\. He is not allowed rinkside during training hours. He will be confined to the lobbies, locker room, or lunchroom. If you see him enter the rink during training hours, kindly escort him out.

3\. Do not show him, speak to him about, or allude to any song choices, movements, or difficulties in any of your programs or your teammates programs. Our programs are our weapons, and they must only be unveiled during competition.

4\. Do not drink with him.

The last announcement was met with titters from those who knew why. Yuri could only roll his eyes and hope the week went quickly, and that Victor continued to stay away from the rink. Yuri was no idiot, and neither was Yakov. They both knew the real reason Katsuki was here, but he wasn’t going to succeed. They would make sure the foreign invader saw neither hide nor hare of his precious idol before he was sent home with his tail between his legs.

The first traitor was Mila. She bounced up to him after practice with her hands behind her back so that her breasts stuck out right into his stupid, ugly, blushing face. She asked him asinine questions about Japan and others started to drift over, curious to hear what the stuttering freak had to say about his home country. Yuri kept note of who was on his shit list and who was still worth talking to after this week was over. He quickly packed up his stuff and left before the day could be ruined any further.

 

Katsuki was there again the next morning with a smile and a list of questions about Russia which meant Monday had not, in fact, been a terrible dream. If anything the second day was worse, because the smarmy manipulative bastard had some witchery that was drawing Yuri’s teammates into his web. At lunchtime everyone was so eager to offer him a portion of their lunches and buy him russian snacks from the corner store. The dumbfuck just kept shoveling food into his mouth, shouting _vkusno!_ in the worst butchering of Russian Yuri had ever heard. It did amuse him that Yuuri consumed about three times the amount of calories a competitive skater should eat in a whole day in one sitting. After that Yuri took to calling him pig anytime he referred to Katsuki.

It was at the end of the second day that the impostor showed his true colors. It was meant to seem like an offhanded comment, but Yuri saw straight through the innocent act.

“So, what days does Victor show up. I would be honored to meet him.”

The room grew quiet. No one wanted to answer, either because they feared Yakov’s wrath or they didn’t want to speak out of turn and insult their hero. Yuri had no such compunctions.

“Didn’t you read the news _pig_ ? He’s not skating anymore. He retired. _Some people_ know when to give up before they embarrass themselves further. You are stuck with the rest of us for the week so you may as well just give up and go home now. Save the JSF some money.”

The fact that what he was saying wasn’t entirely true did not stop the younger boy from saying it. If those were the words Katsuki needed to hear to give up his dumb dream of being coached by Victor, then so be it. Remembering the lovesick look in Victor’s eyes last year as the drunken, sweaty pig clung to him and begged for Victor to coach _him_ \- the worst skater at the grand prix - nearly made him gag.  Really Yuri was saving them all from embarrassment.

As the two Yuri’s engaged in a staring match, everyone left the room quickly and quietly so as not to be caught at the scene of the crime. Eventually Katsuki dropped his eyes, and Plisetsky strutted away triumphant. Then the Japanese man’s voice, sounding almost desperate, stopped him in his tracks.

“Victor has until August 15th. He can still change his mind. He _can_ still skate with us.”

Yuri didn’t know how to process all the information in that sentence, and he didn’t want the other man to see the shock on his face, so he just kept walking away.

 

Later that night, curled up around his cat for comfort, he thought about Katsuki’s words. He had been just as shocked as everyone else that Victor turned down his invitation this year. To be honest he didn't know the rules and regulations regarding competitions, his coaches just signed him up and told him where to go. If there was anything Yuri was good at though (other than skating) it was moving forward in unknown times. He kept his head down, kept skating, and didn’t think too hard about it. If Victor wasn’t skating it was one less person he had to beat to get the gold.

Naturally the rink felt differently without Victor’s focused presence but if that was the new situation than so be it. It was certainly quieter now that he wasn’t correcting everyone and telling loud stories and making everyone laugh when they should be practicing. Everyone knew Victor made his own decisions, so no one questioned him.

Except Katsuki. What if he didn’t come here to steal Victor, to take him as a coach? Why else was he here? What could he possibly think he could say to get Victor to put on his skates and at least try. It wasn’t like other people hadn’t attempted to change his mind. Probably.

Yuri slept fitfully that night, after realizing that he was still picturing the season with Victor there skating and cheering and lecturing, just like he had always been.

 

The third day was quiet. Katsuki kept to himself mostly, typing on his laptop and only eating vegetables afters yesterday’s snack feast. Yuri still called him pig, still teased him about wasting his time, and even got in some good jabs about crying for good measure. Near the end of the day Katsuki was talking to Yakov and Yuri saw them agree and shake hands before Katsuki left the building. Yuri ran over to Yakov and shouted in triumph. “You did it, he’s leaving! What did you say that got him to go back?”

Yakov looked at him tiredly and shook his head. “Katsuki is going to get his skates. I told him he could use the ice after we all finished for the day. He can skate until they turn the lights out at midnight. Hopefully he knows better than to attempt anything crazy with no one here to watch, but Anton will stay to lock up so he won’t be alone if he does hurt himself. Now get back to work and keep your nose out of his business.”

 

Yuri knew two things. One was that his knees were starting to hurt from crouching in the dark watching Katsuki skate in _his_ rink. The second was that Katsuki was the most boring skater he had ever seen. The man hadn’t done anything that could be considered a routine yet; just drew shapes, did some straight step sequences, some basic doubles and triples that any baby could do. The pig’s music was boring as well, a mix of slow classical and spanish music that was putting him to sleep. After about an hour of warming up the failure suddenly became interesting, skating to all four sides of the rink and looking into the hallways and break rooms like he was trying to make sure that no one had hung around. Finally, Yuri would see something he could use. He would know how many points Katsuki was planning on trying to get. Sure, he would probably still flub the jumps in competition, but it wasn’t a guarantee. He has heard of skaters coming back from bad seasons and winning before. Yuri didn’t feel bad about using this opportunity to scope out his adversary.

Yuri could not have prepared himself for what he did see. He nearly burst out laughing when the opening notes of Stammi Vicino played over the speakers. What a fucking fanboy! He could hardly contain his giggles when he saw Katsuki doing an identical imitation of Victor, down to the facial expressions and arm movements.

He stopped laughing when Yuuri pulled off a perfect quad flip.

The rest of the program went by smoothly and was incredibly impressive, but Yuri’s brain could not get past the fact that the Japanese pig crybaby could do a quad flip when Yuri was banned from even trying. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fucking fair. Yuri could feel his rage building, and there was only one person in the room to take it out on. He looked up just as the program ended and was halted from screaming due to the euphoric look on the other man’s face. Yuri had seen that look many times before, on Victor’s face whenever he stopped skating. They got the same stupid look on their fugly faces and it pissed him off even further.

Skating because you love skating, because it felt good, was a bad reason to skate. Sure, maybe sometimes you were happy, but the minute you “lose inspiration” you are sulking around your apartment and making excuses not to come to the practice and abandoning your protege right when he needs you the most before his senior debut. Better to just skate for money and fame, and because you have the skill.

Maybe he could use Katsuki to his advantage though. If he could talk him into teaching him the trick to the quad flip, Yuri would win every competition easily. Heck, even if Katsuki did manage to get Victor to skate again, Yuri could beat him with his own “specialty move”. It would be glorious, and Yuri could say that he officially defeated Victor. It would be perfect. Now to make it happen.

Yuri stood up from his hiding place and started clapping and whistling. Katsuki spun around and gaped at him, flailing his arms around and turning five shades of red.

“You really are as much of a kissass fanboy as you pretend to be, aren’t you?”

Yuuri blushed even harder “I just really admire his work.”

“No, _I_ admire his work. _You_ learned his fucking routine, and clearly put more effort into it that you have ever put into your own skating. Do you even have your own programs this year, or are you just going to steal his?”

Yuuri balked. “I just - I’m in his rink, where he created all his best work. How could I _not_. If I’m never going to skate with him again, this might be the closest I get, ok.”

‘You were never skating _with him_ dumbass, you were skating _against_ him. Well, not really, you couldn’t come near his scores with a ten foot pole, but still. Is that why you’re here, so you could beg him to skate just for you? I thought you would have figured out by now that begging him won’t get you what you want.”

“No! I just...I needed to see the truth for myself. No-one knows why he’s not skating, and it...it doesn’t feel right. I don’t understand why he would just stop. He’s not even here in the rink coaching or just skating for fun, and that doesn’t bother you? It doesn’t seem strange? Could _you_ just quit cold turkey? I considered it after last season, and the thought of not skating nearly crushed me. The thought of skating this season without Victor in the line-up is even worse. Can you honestly say that something doesn’t seem wrong about all this? You know him better than I do. Why would he just retire?”

Yuri knew he would never stop skating, not as long as he could still win. Victor could easily still make it on the podium at least, even if his scores dropped by thirty points. Yes, it had bothered him that Victor's visits to the rink happened less and less often over the last few months, and stopped entirely once the news hit that he wasn’t competing. He had assumed Victor was just avoiding the press, keeping his head down. Somehow, he now felt that wasn’t correct. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. What if they had all been wrong?

“He didn’t retire...I lied yesterday. He told us he’s “looking for inspiration”, but I’m pretty sure he hasn’t left his apartment in weeks. Victor is such a celebrity here that if he goes outside the local paper reports on every step he takes. There’s been nothing recently. Usually when he’s looking for inspiration he’s all over the place shopping and talking to people, or he’s here forcing us to listen to strange music and asking us to tell him stories about our lives. I doubt he’s going to find whatever he’s looking for in his damn apartment.”

Katsuki looked like a dying man being led to water. Yuri was pretty sure he could get what he wanted just by telling the pig trivia about his stupid idol. But the idea of skating against Victor and winning was too tempting. Heck, even if Katsuki could just get him back into the rink to polish Yuri’s programs would be better than the nothing he had right now. Yes, it would take a lot of work to make Victor forget the snake charmer again after he left, but Yuri had done it once, and he could do it again.

“Ok, here’s the deal pig. You teach me to do that quad flip, and I’ll take you to go see Victor.”

Yuri was prepared for seeing the Japanese man crying and squealing and thanking him on his knees. Instead he got a slight inhalation of breath, followed by a scoff.

“How dumb do you really think I am. That quad flip is worth a lot of points, especially the way Victor does it. Yes, I want to see Victor, but I also want to win this season. Ask your coach to teach you.”

Shit. He wouldn’t have this problem if Yakov wasn’t so damn stubborn. “Yakov doesn’t have time, too many skaters, and he doesn’t think I need it. Victor was supposed to teach me, but he stopped coming. What else do you want? You won’t get to see Victor without my help. No one but me and Yakov and his publicity team even knows where he lives.”

He watched Katsuki consider for a second, and wondered how much he was willing to give to learn Victor’s secret. It was mostly the fact that it was forbidden fruit that made him want it at all.  At this point it was the principle of the thing.

“Take me to see Victor - no hanging around either, you leave us alone to talk. Then help me with my salchow.”

“Jealous of my quad sow huh? Oh, thats right, yours is shit and you can barely land it!”

“Not all of us have had perfect Russian training since we were toddlers. You don’t have to take the deal. I got myself to Russia and I _will_ find a way to see Victor, with or without you. This way at least we both come out a little stronger.”

“Fine! I have the morning off tomorrow, I’ll meet you here at nine. After practice you show me the flip, then I’ll help your pitiful Salchow resemble something that looks like skating.”

Katsuki nodded. They had a deal. Not knowing how to end the conversation in a way that made him look cool, Yuri opted to just grab his bag and walk away.

That was a shame, because if he had looked behind him he would have seen the other skater drop to his knees in relief, shaking from the pressure of the conversation.

 

Yuri was pulled from his thoughts as the cab arrived at Victor’s building. They rode the elevator to the top floor and he told Katsuki to wait for him in the hallway. Yuri had tried calling last night and this morning, but there was no answer. Maybe Victor was on vacation and hadn’t told anyone. Who knew, maybe Victor wouldn’t even want to see Katsuki. Not likely, but stranger things had happened.

When Victor finally opened the door the first thing Yuri noticed was the stench. He pushed Victor back and closed the door quickly behind him so he couldn’t see into the hallway. The older skater was wearing what might possibly be pajamas, but that was fine, they had seen each other in less clothing before anyway. The house was littered with trash and it was clear Victor hadn’t been bothering to clean up after himself. What had he been doing in here? Brooding in his own filth? Weird. After throwing away the worst of it, Yuri opened the windows and poured the man some coffee. He kept up a steady stream of conversation as he did so, but when he approached Victor it was clear the skater hadn’t heard a word he said. He forced the coffee into his hand and sat him on the couch. The wrinkles in his clothes were less noticeable when he was sitting. After explaining himself and covering his ass with some lies about Yakov setting up the meeting Yuri felt he had done the best he could. With a brief threat to Katsuki on his way out he rode down the elevator confident that he was getting the better end of the deal, _and_ helping Victor out of his funk like a goddamned hero.

Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad week after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another super long chapter. I am just not capable of expressing myself in less than 8 pages.   
> *editing this and realizing my new average is 20-25 pages why do I do this to myself lol.
> 
> Writing Yuri was lot's of fun though. I got to use lots of cuss words I don't say myself. I really wanted to fit Mila and Georgi into this scene, but I got the vibe that Yuri wouldn't really pay attention to them. They WILL be in this fic though, I am determined to have them. 
> 
> I have decided to integrate the new info from chapter 10 into this fic, it really is a brilliant plot device and strengthens everything. *Chapter one was re-done almost completely it was a pain.


	4. Motivations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Victor think about how they got to this spot, and what to do now.

As the seconds ticked by Victor wondered if Katsuki was aware of how long he had been holding onto Makkachin. Not that he minded, it gave him time to study the other man, and gain some control over his own body. Somehow he had managed to forget the effect Katsuki had on him. A few seconds of eye contact had brought back an evenings worth of thoughts and feelings he had spent months agonizing over, and then more months repressing, until he finally felt himself again. Except he realized now, as he watched the younger man absentmindedly smooth his fingers through the poodle’s fur while his face was buried into her neck, that perhaps he hadn’t felt himself at all. What he had felt was empty - an absence of the feelings that the handsome Japanese man had filled him with nearly seven months ago.

Eventually Katsuki seemed to remember himself and released Makkachin with a gentle pat on her head. She wasted no time in jumping up onto the couch next to Victor and nudging his arm so he would now pet her. Spoiled princess. He indulged her while he stealthily watched his guest stand up and brush fur off his clothing. Katsuki really seemed to have needed that hug - from his dog of all people. Perhaps the dog could be a point of common ground between them?

Before Victor could formulate some witty question about dogs that miraculously began a smooth conversation, Makkachin started furiously licking at his hand and whining. He nearly smacked himself when he realized why.

“Sorry, but she hasn’t been out yet today. Do you mind if I run downstairs with her? There is a place she likes across the street...it will only be a minute.” Katsuki hesitated, as though he was going to offer to say something, but then decided to just nod. Victor quickly placed his mug on the table behind him, grabbed the leash and collar off the coat rack, and set off down the hall after his dog who was already patiently waiting by the elevators.

As he pressed the elevator’s button for the lobby Victor took his first full breath of the day and tried to evaluate what was happening.

The farther he got physically from the man who was in his apartment the calmer Victor felt. It was as though there was a snake in his space, poised and ready to strike if Victor made the smallest movement. It was a ridiculous analogy, but it was the best he could liken the tightness in his chest to. Fear. For some reason he was afraid and he had no idea why. There was nothing the other man could say or do to him that hadn’t been done before by someone else. Victor had been seduced, cajoled, insulted, and betrayed a thousand times in his life and had borne it all with a smirk and a wave of his hand. Why should this time be so different?

A horn blared in front of him, alerting him to the fact that he had waltzed right onto the busy street without looking. Panicked he looked around for Makkachin to find her whining and pawing at the ground on the sidewalk behind him, where he had trained her to wait until all the cars had passed. At least one of them had some common sense right now. He jogged back and praised her for doing well while she licked him to assure herself he was alright. He wasn’t, but there was no way of explaining that to his dog right now.

Forcing himself to pay attention he attached the collar and leash and crossed the street safely this time. Victor realized he needed a game plan. He couldn't continue to let Katsuki lead all of their interactions if Victor intended to get out of this with his heart and mind intact.

Why was Yuu...Katsuki even in Russia, at his apartment? Did he still want to be coached? It was a bit late for that. Victor felt anger simmering in his veins. This was good, anger would help him focus. If Katsuki thinks he can just waltz in and out of Victor’s life and expect to get whatever he wants then he would find out how wrong that was. Skating was on the backburner now while Victor figured out the rest of his life.

In the last few months Victor had discovered he could barely feed and clothe himself after allowing other people to handle it for him so long, therefore complicated feelings were not what he was in the mood for right now. If he wanted human interaction he could always answer any of the 150+ messages he had on his phone, which had been buried at the bottom of his hamper when it wouldn't stop making noises at him the night the GPF announcements went up. Eventually the battery had died and Victor had not felt that weightless in years. Without his coach and teammates and country and press team demanding things from him he was free to discover who he was as his own person. He didn't expect that the journey would be so difficult. He thought if he could just get away from it all he would feel that same dizzying happiness he had felt when Yuuri led him in dance. During that dance he hadn't had to think at all, just move as he wished, and it had been wonderful.

Standing in a park while his dog sniffed around for gopher holes Victor allowed the pain to flood back into him. Seeing his fellow competitor walk away from him without even a ‘no thank you’ after being offered a selfie together. Katsuki just vanishing the day after they had drunkenly,  joyously, and unexpectedly danced together. The absolute lack of contact in the time after while they prepared for the next competition. Victor had flooded his social media with pictures of himself training hoping for at least a like or a good luck, but received nothing despite the fact that he could see the other man was active and commenting on other competitors photo’s and videos. The disappointment of seeing Katsuki not show up at Worlds was deeper than he had expected, and it took Victor a while to figure out that it had nothing to do with skating and everything to do with being denied another gala dance. Victor had waited, foolishly, for any communication whatsoever after the skating season was over. Perhaps a formal letter to his managers asking to speak with him, or a DM on twitter asking if Victor could look at his new programs. Every ping and chime his phone made quickened his pulse with anticipation, only to let him down. The weeks ticked by and nothing came. Clearly the other man had not needed Victor as much as he let on.

No, it wasn’t not being needed that hurt. It was not being wanted. Katsuki Yuuri clearly did not want anything to do with Victor unless he was very drunk.  Victor cradled his anger and his hurt, held it close to his chest and let it protect his heart. He would not be so fragile this time. Katsuki Yuuri would not shatter him again.

 

Yuuri took advantage of this moment alone to remind himself of all the reasons he was here.

He realizes now that the night of the GPF announcement he might have gone into a bit of a panic. After reading through every news article that mentioned the senior skater’s name and finding no actual relevant details as to why he wasn’t skating this season Yuuri went on a quest, searching for all the old articles he could find about Victor getting ready for a new season. Comparing the old magazines clippings under his bed to the interviews on the internet from his last few years as reigning champion unveiled a steady decline in both word count and details.

Twenty year old Victor had spoken so much about his programs and travels and excitement that he had to be edited down and interrupted. The VHS tapes dug out from the back of his closet showed the Victor that inspired a young Yuuri, with long hair and bright eyes and comments about himself and his competition that were personal and real and perhaps even a little risque at time, making the interviewers gasp slightly and flounder for more questions. His eyes sparkled mischievously and his smile was wide and infectious.

The change seemed to start two years ago. Victor had just won his third World Championship gold in a row, this time it was by a wide margin instead of just a few points. Christophe had won silver for the second year in a row, and the two men had their arms around each other in triumph. Christophe's smile was directed at Victor, his eyes lidded like they held secrets. He had just begun to behave like some sort of sex god, clinging to Victor as often as possible, letting the media come to it’s own conclusions. At the time Yuuri could only feel envy and had hardly looked at this photo at all, blocking it everywhere he could. Phichit had just moved in with him and they bonded over ice-cream and anti-Christophe gossip forums.

Now he looked closer, trying to see past his younger self’s selfishness. Yuuri could see the posturing now for what it was. It was a persona. A mask. An act for the cameras. He knew Christophe well enough to know he had loved his choreographer for years and was in a happy relationship. Yuuri turned his eyes to the other man in the photo. Victor was staring straight at the camera, his gold medal award winning smile front and center, and suddenly Yuuri could see through that as well. It shook him to his core. He held up a photo from eight years ago side by side to the photo on his screen and the difference in Victor’s expression broke his heart.

Yuuri quickly continued through photo’s and articles from the last two years, seeing Victor’s sunny smile become smaller and colder each time. His eyes turned from interested and enthusiastic to detached and glazed over.

Suddenly it struck Yuuri where he had seen that look before. He had seen it for months reflected back at him in the mirror after Vicchan had passed. It was the look of being lost. His eyes were distant because they were looking for something they couldn’t find. Looking for a lifeline to pull you to where you were once happy. Yuuri had learned the hard way that you could not pull yourself out of that lost place. It took friends and family and love to throw you ropes and haul you out of the darkness. Did Victor have people to help him?

Who would know? His rink mates? Possibly. Word on the internet was that Victor hadn’t been to the rink recently, which was unusual for him, so Yuuri discounted help from that department. He couldn’t see Plisetsky or Yakov comforting anyone; he had only ever seen them all yelling at eachother.

Christophe? Yuuri had his number, the other man had programed it into his phone after they competed together at NHK Canada last year, before he had even made it into the Grand Prix. Yuuri wasn’t sure how much of the victophe friendship was fabricated and how much was real, but it was the best option he had.

His hands only shook slightly as he prepared to hit send on the call. Luckily his eyes flicked up to see the time on his phone and he realized it was two in the morning. Christophe was only four hours ahead of him, so he probably wouldn’t even be awake yet…

It was then that Yuuri realized he maybe needed to calm down. He looked around his room to see newspapers and magazines and tapes scattered about the floor and covering his bed, and noticed he had over twenty tabs open on his web browser. It was like a scene from the bad American police television shows Phichit was addicted to. From his walls Victor smiled down at him, both assuring him it would be ok if he slept, and reminding him that there was a man who might need saving from himself.

Yuuri crawled into bed still clothed and fell asleep staring at Victor, thinking about how to help him.

The next morning was not pleasant. Minako’s shriek as she entered his room when he did not show up on time for practice pierced his skull and jolted him awake. The first thing he registered was that she was stepping on his oldest newspapers with her high heels, and he yelled out unintelligible words about how they could not be replaced as he tackled her and pushed her out of the room, closing the door behind him. There may have even been some swear words, he couldn’t remember. His actions earned him a swat on the ear and a demand for an explanation.

As they sat and shared morning tea and fish Yuuri carefully explained his theory to a dubious Minako. She waited patiently while he went back to his room to gather the evidence and present it to her one point at a time. He believed Victor was depressed, and did not know if anyone else had noticed yet. Yuuri wanted - no, _Yuuri needed_ , to find out and ease his mind before he could continue preparing for the new season.

Minako still looked skeptical, but she promised she would look into it for him. She could reach out to his personnel and see if they were interested in speaking to her, or if Victor was interested in speaking to Yuuri. He agreed to continue practicing while they awaited the response.

Three days later and the feedback they received was that Victor was not available to speak to anyone, that he was taking personal time off and was not available for anything. They didn’t even bother to call, just sent a professional and impersonal e-mail to Minako. There were still no sightings of him out and about in Russia, and Yuuri was going to crawl out of his skin with worry.

He called Phichit, but the most support his friend could give him was agreeing that the photo’s of Nikiforov recently did _sort of_ match the look Yuuri had when he was depressed. Not exactly helpful.

On the fifth day Yuuri worked up the courage to call Christophe. Surely the man had to know something about the Russian skater.

“Yuuri! I’ll be honest, I never expected to hear from _you._ What has you calling me?”

After making the necessary amount of apologies for being a bad friend and the required small talk about skating and congratulating each other on years GPF qualifications Yuuri managed to broach the subject he actually cared about.

“I was wondering if you had heard from Victor? I am curious why he is not competing this year, and I thought since you are close to him you might know…”

Christophe laughed, loud and bright. Yuuri could feel his blush heating up the phone against his cheek.

“Ah! I see, we get to the real reason you finally called me. Interesting…Sadly I cannot clear that mystery up for you, as I am still in the dark myself. I have texted him a few times, but have received no response. He is being quite dramatique no? I am sure it is nothing to worry about, although it is sad that he will not be there to play with us this year. It’s difficult to get motivated thinking that he will not be there to fight against. Shame really. Perhaps seeing us skate without him will make him want to come back to the ice! We must make sure to look like we are having the time of our lives without him.”

Christophe rambled on for a few more minutes while Yuuri made small affirmative noises, but he had already disregarded the man as a friend and as a source of information. He made one last request as they said goodbye.

“If you hear anything from him, will you let me know?”

With an overly abused sigh Christophe said the first words that made any sense to Yuuri.

“If you care so much why don’t you just go ask him yourself. I’m he would be pleased if you showed up on his doorstep. Make sure to put a bow on your head so he knows you are there _just for him_!”

Yuuri hung up on Chris’s deranged laughter, but the idea was now implanted into his head. If he wasn’t answering calls it didn’t bode well for Yuuri’s depression theory. There had been none of the usual social media posts either, so perhaps he wasn't using his phone at all or didn’t have it with him. But maybe he would answer his doorbell…

Minako was, of course, against the idea. Flying to Russia for who knows how long to see a man who didn’t want to be seen when Yuuri had barely finished choreographing his programs, let alone practiced them?

You only have four months - I still have four months.

You don’t even know him - I want to, that’s why I’m going.

It sounds like he doesn’t want to see anybody - That is why he needs someone to see him.

You don’t speak Russian - I speak English, as will he.

Don’t you want to win gold?

This one surprised him the most. Really, if you traced it back this whole thing could be blamed on her to begin with, so why was she questioning it now?

“Minako, my goal for this season - the goal _you_ set for me - was to surprise Victor Nikiforov, and get him to notice me. What could surprise him more or get me noticed more than showing up at his doorstep. I’m sorry, but this is something I have to do. Now will you help me or not?”

In the end it took three weeks for the JSF to set everything up. He was going to be a sort of ice skating diplomat for Japan or something complicated. He had a list of required photo’s and questions from Morooka so the man could write articles about the experience when he returned. The budget he received was a mere pittance, only supposed to last three days, but Yuuri went behind their back and booked a much cheaper hotel, extending his stay to five nights, with him leaving on the following saturday. It would have to do. That gave him one week to find Victor and make sure he was loved and supported like Yuuri himself was, and to discover why he was no longer skating. He felt that if he knew the answer to those two questions, he could continue skating on his own.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaand we're back! If you were wondering what the heck happened to this fic, I'm sorry. I got really stuck on it and was having problems writing. In the mean time i wrote something else that I am quite proud of, 'I Will Be Right Here'. Check it out on my profile :)
> 
> Sorry for disappearing, I understand where this is going now and we will get there in short time. Thanks for not deleting the bookmark!
> 
> As Always feel free to chat in the comments or on my Tumblr (Artdefines06) asking questions or offering opinions.


	5. Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Victor are finally alone together. Yuuri gets to know his lifelong Idol, and Victor gets to know the cute guy he danced with last year. Neither one is what the other expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Checks that tags are appropriately warning people that this story has large amounts of sadness...check. Let's proceed*
> 
> It's going to get worse before it gets better...

With those two goals reaffirmed in his head Yuuri felt more centered. He opened his eyes and looked around Victor’s loft. Immediately he began to panic slightly again. Yuuri Katsuki, a nobody from a small town in Japan, had somehow made it to Victor Nikiforov’s apartment. He had even managed to introduce himself this time. Before he had been attacked by over 60 pounds of dog he had been close to shaking hands with Victor Nikiforov.

He had cuddled the poodle he had seen in magazines since he was a child. It was a bit surreal.

Now that he was alone he took a second to try to remember the last few moments in detail. They had sort of flown by as they were happening, a blur of nerves and fur and the hint of a smile at the end. The smile, which Victor had probably been directing as his dog, was small and soft. It was already a direct improvement from the vacant look Yuuri had received as he introduced himself. Seeing that blank expression on Victor’s face, where it so obviously did not belong, had hardened his resolve and gave him the courage he needed to tamp down his insecurities and hold out his hand in an offering of friendship.

Because, as Minako had drilled into him: He is already an equal to Victor, and he is talented enough to be noticed and remembered. His own addition to this included the fact that he had directly experienced and overcome times of trouble, and therefore was most qualified to discover if Victor was experiencing his own.  

Standing there in the quiet of Victor’s loft Yuuri was conflicted. On the one hand he _really_ wanted to look around. On the other hand he could feel Minako-sensei lecturing him all the way from Japan about his manners - right before she asked him to explain the room to her in detail. He thought about the advice others would give him in this situation. His parents would smile and say that living rooms are meant to be shared spaces. Phichit would want pictures. Vicchan would already be curled up in Makkachin’s bed, claiming it for himself.

Since they were all agreed Yuuri figured it couldn't hurt to look around a little, just at what is already out in the front room. You don’t put something out unless you count on people seeing it, right?

There wasn’t much, to be honest. A single couch in the middle of the room with too many pillows on it for his taste. A weird coat rack/chair combination that gave him the willies was by the door, holding a light windbreaker and an older, beat up looking leash that probably wasn’t used anymore.  Off to the left was a door that presumably led to a bedroom or bathroom. There was a yellowed, dried up cactus sitting on a stool in front of a framed picture of a healthy green cactus of the same variety. Strange.

The rest of the space was dominated by a modern open kitchen. The back wall was a floor to ceiling window and sliding door that led onto a balcony. The doors were open to air the place out and the breeze caused gauzy white curtains to flutter in and out of the kitchen, giving the room a soft quality. Bare light bulbs hung from the ceiling at various lengths. Decorative vases and perfectly filled spice bottles littered the stainless steel counters and shelves. Gleaming copper pans hung from hooks on a wire rack on the right wall. As he wandered further into the kitchen he noticed the ovens and stoves were spotless, and the only dishes in the sink were coffee cups and cutlery. The whole thing reminded him of a showroom at the Ikea Phichit had dragged him to in Detroit when they had to buy furniture for their dorm. There were no pictures on the fridge, no messy stacks of paper and pens, no clutter laying around that hadn’t been artfully placed by an interior designer.  

The only objects that showed signs of regular use were a toaster that still had two pieces of burned toast sticking out of it and fancy coffee machine with lots of buttons and levers. Yuuri poked the toast and found that it was rock hard, possibly a few days old. After a life of living in a family run hotel he was tempted to clean up, but thought maybe Victor required the old toast for something. Maybe he wanted to make breadcrumbs. Burned breadcrumbs. Not his business what the man did with his burned toast.

The coffee machine was emitting an amazing aroma. He hadn’t had real coffee since he returned to Japan. The scent reminded him of early morning walks though the Detroit storms with Phichit to fetch the life giving drink. Yuuri was a bit intimidated by how complicated the machine looked. Best not to touch it.

Just as he was ready to return to the couch and wait for Victor to come back, the coffee machine beeped at him. _Loudly._ A red light began to blink on one side, a slow, lazy blinking that made him nervous. What if the machine needed something? As if in response to his internal inquiry a small latch released, revealing a switch that was flipped up. Crap.

He shouldn’t push the switch, he didn’t know what it would do.

Maybe it needed to be switched back down.

Were these things pressure based?

Could they explode if left un-attended?

That would be _just great_. Yuuri was alone for five minutes in Victor Nikiforov’s apartment and somehow was going to manage to explode the expensive coffee machine because he was too scared to flip a switch. Victor would kick him out and then get him banned from skating somehow and he would spend the rest of his days locked in his room wishing he had just flipped the switch when he had the chance. Yuuri heard the elevator ding in the hallway and quickly reached over to hit the switch to keep the crazy device from exploding on him. Immediately coffee came pouring out of one of the spigots, quickly overflowing the small reservoir intended for tiny spills. Yuuri could only see the dirty coffee cups in the sink and didn’t know where the clean ones were, and just as the thick black liquid started to run down the side of the counter and onto the floor the doorbell began to buzz.

 

When the elevator doors opened on his floor Victor was greeted with the sounds of arguing. One voice was demanding something in harsh Russian. The other was Katsuki, sounding desperate and panicked. What was happening? He hurried forward, telling Makkachin to wait in the hall.

He was greeted with the sight of the Lavka delivery person waving a clipboard at the kitchen and pointing at the bags of groceries at his feet while threatening in Russian to take the food back to the store. Victor got the young man’s attention and signed for his twice-weekly delivery. The boy protested that Victor had to be there at delivery times to sign, and that he would no longer deliver if he could not count on Victor’s presence at the specified time. Victor numbly apologized and dismissed the boy, barely acknowledging his presence because he still did not see Katsuki anywhere. As the boy left and Makkachin came in to sniff at the grocery bags Victor scanned the apartment for signs of his guest. Finally his eyes came to rest on a sight that did not belong; a thick black streak running from his espresso machine down the side of his kitchen counter. At the bottom of the spill was a puddle of liquid, a puddle of Japanese skater, and about twenty paper towels soaked in costly imported Italian Espresso.

For a second Victor wondered if Katsuki Yuuri had been created for the sole purpose of complicating his life.

There was a low murmuring of unfamiliar sounds, possibly Japanese prayers or apologies, coming from the man who had folded himself into a small ball on his kitchen floor. His forehead was practically touching the floor and the stream of japanese was unending, barely a breath taken between sentences.

Suddenly Victor was tired. His body felt heavy and his eyes were struggling to stay open. He wanted very much to just crawl back in bed and forget this day had happened. Maybe it would happen again tomorrow and he would be better prepared for it then. Sleeping through stress was a habit he developed a few years ago, and it had helped him more and more lately.

True, going to bed and leaving his guest on the kitchen floor without another word would be rude, but he had done worse to far less deserving. He was known for his charm and his looks, not his tact. Bitterly he thought it would serve Katsuki right if Victor left him cold and alone - an eye for an eye right?

As a rebuke for his dark thoughts Makkachin came up beside him and nudged his hand, giving him a long look. When Victor did nothing but look back she gave up on him and went over to Katsuki, trying to nose her way under his arm to lick his face. Her persistence was met with grumbles at first, but eventually she earned a small giggle from him and Victor watched as she once again had arms thrown around her.

So far his dog had received two hugs and Victor had still not managed one. Not that he was trying for them, but the thought stung nonetheless. They looked so soft and warm…

Yuuri had the feeling this entire visit would go better if he could spend the whole time buried in Makkachin’s fur. That was not an option though. There was still coffee to pick up, groceries to put away, and a five time world champion and living legend to apologize to. He only hoped the machine was not too expensive to replace.

“I’m am very sorry that I broke your coffee machine. I should not have touched it. Please let me know what I need to do to replace it.” _And please don’t kick me out and get me banned from skating I have no other talents_ he added silently.

Victor looked slightly puzzled for a second, and gingerly stepped around the puddle to inspect the machine in question. Yuuri quickly stood up because kneeling at the man’s literal feet was a bit much, even for him. Victor flipped the switch back up and the machine clicked. The red light next to the switch turned off and a different yellow light near the bottom turned on. Victor opened a panel on the top and looked inside, then turned to Yuuri with his brows furrowed.

“What, exactly, did you do?

Yuuri hung his head in shame, and pointed at the evil switch.

“I flipped that switch down when it beeped. I didn’t want it to explode. I hope I did not damage it too badly.” He nudged one of the paper towels with his foot, sending ripples through the murky pool that remained.

“That is all?”

“Yes! I did not touch anything else.”

“Then it is not broken. This switch controls how much liquid comes out - you are meant to flip it back up when you have the right amount of espresso in your cup. Since you did not flip it back up it simply continued to pour out espresso until there was no more. Other than the mess there is no harm done.”

While he spoke Victor reached into a nearby cupboard and began the process of putting new beans and water into the machine. Yuuri was torn between apologizing more and dying of embarrassment. Instead he decided that finishing the cleanup of the spill would be the best use of his time. Victor produced a trash can from another cupboard and placed it next to him while he cleaned, and then proceeded to put away the groceries.

They worked separately, but there was a peace in their solitude that felt easy. Yuuri was nearly finished when Victors smooth voice cut through the quiet.

“Have you eaten today?”

“Oh, umm, no, I forgot…” The truth was he had been too nervous.

“I have some trout and shrimp ravioli here that just needs to be boiled, it is pre-made. I need to eat it soon though, it is best when fresh.” There was a pause, then his voice was lighter, softer. “Would you care to join me?”

Yuuri felt like he was going to float away. He must be in a dream. Not only was he _not_ going to get kicked out of the country for breaking Victor’s machine, but he was being offered the experience of sharing a meal with his lifelong idol. He didn’t deserve this - he was the guest, he had to do something to make the offer even.

“Yes, I would very much enjoy that. Please allow me to prepare it while you relax. It would help to make up for spilling on your floor.”

Victor looked down at the brown bag clutched in his hands, then back and Yuuri, and nodded. He placed the bag on the counter and walked out of the kitchen. As the door to his bedroom closed behind him Yuuri took a deep breath and went in search of the items he needed to prepare a meal for five time world champion and living legend Victor Nikiforov.

 

From his bedroom, Victor could hear the opening and closing of the fridge, the banging of pots and pans, and gentle murmurings to Makkachin as their meal was put together. The steady stream of conversation that Katsuki kept up with his dog made him feel fonder than he wanted to. Why did the other man have to be so sweet and considerate and apologetic with those big brown doe eyes?

As Victor searched his closet for more appropriate clothes he wondered again why Katsuki was here in his apartment. Was it rude to ask? Did Victor care about being rude? His resolve to be terse and unyielding had not lasted long under the force of frankly adorable confusion over how to use an espresso machine, or the sight of graceful arms wrapped around his dog. Victor had a soft spot for people who were nice to dogs in general, and his dog specifically.

Theoretically Victor had known that the version of Yuuri he had met at the Gala had been altered by alcohol and a sense of failure. That Yuuri had been bold, exciting, and as intoxicating as the champagne he had been consuming in inhuman quantities. This Yuuri was still a mystery to him; one that he had been so eager to crack seven months ago, but he was so tired of putting so much effort into everything. The idea of playing the game - the back and forth of flirting and being coy and showing skin accidentally - it all just made him want to give up.

He had never needed anyone. He had always found strength on his own. Just him and Makkachin against the world. So he wouldn’t waste his time trying to bat his eyes and make witty banter with this stranger in his house. He would just feed him, answer whatever questions he had, and send him home.

A knock at his door made him jump slightly.

“Everything is finished when you are ready.”

“Thank you, I will be right out.”

Victor pulled out a dress shirt and slacks from one of his emergency suits and changed quickly, leaving the top few buttons undone so he didn’t seem too formal. He really needed to figure out how to use the laundry machines in his building, but who knew that he was going to have company come over without warning? He opened the door and stepped out to the heavenly scents of citrus and garlic and his mouth instantly watered. What had Katsuki done now?  


Yuuri finished washing the last pan just as Victor emerged from his room. He had changed out of the light flowy pants and shirt he had on earlier to grey slacks and an ice blue shirt. He looked like he had stepped of one of the posters in Yuuri’s room. For a second all Yuuri could do was stare at him, processing the fact that this was really happening.

“It smells amazing in here. What did you make?”

“Oh, I steamed some broccoli then sauteed it in garlic and oil, and I made a light orange-teriyaki sauce to cover the ravioli’s. I have already washed the pans, and will do the dishes when we are finished. I also set the table a bit differently, I hope you don’t mind.

He watched Victor inspect his work and hoped he hadn’t been too forward. The loft only had a small one sided table with two chairs set next to each other. Yuuri didn’t think he felt comfortable enough to sit shoulder to shoulder so he had moved the couch forward and set the chairs on opposite ends of the small table in a more traditional arrangement. Plates and silverware were already set out, but he couldn't find any napkins so he had simply placed the roll of paper towels nearby in case they needed them. Luckily the kitchen had been fully stocked by someone who knew what they were doing so he found serving dishes and utensils (still wrapped in paper) in the back of a cabinet. It was simple, but he was pleased by his ingenuity and thought his parents would be proud. Victor was still staring at the small set-up blankly.

Right when the lack of response was on the edge of becoming uncomfortable, Victor turned to him with wide eyes.

“You did all this in the time it took me to change clothes? How?”

“Well, actually you were in there for half an hour…” Victor continued to look at him like he was confused and the discomfort settled between Yuuri’s shoulder blades, making him want to move them back and forth in a habit he had that drove Minako crazy. He managed to hold himself still, but only just barely.

“Would you like to sit down?” Yuuri ventured, hoping to get Victor to stop staring at him like he was a witch.

Finally Victor seemed to give up his silent inquisition and sat at the far end, near the windows. They served themselves and took the first bite. Victor’s eyes went wide and he stared at his plate incredulously. “Vkusno” he whispered. Yuuri is glad he learned what that meant at the rink, otherwise he would have gone crazy worrying if it was a compliment or not the way Victor had said it.

“You did this with the few things I have in my kitchen? Usually I just boil them and eat them with my hands out of the strainer over the sink. This is so much better. Thank you.”

Yuuri nearly laughed at the image of five time world champion and living legend Victor Nikiforov juggling hot raviolis in his bare hands. There was a picture for a magazine centerfold. Instead he blushed (of course, it was one thing he seemed to do a lot around Victor) and explained about how he had learned to cook in his family's onsen. Then he explained what an onsen was, where he lived in Japan, how he learned to skate, and how he studied in Detroit for five years. He had not planned on spending so much time talking about himself, but Victor kept nodding and saying “Really, then what?” or “What was that like?”, so he kept telling bits of his life. Sometimes Victors lips would twitch like they wanted to laugh before they set back into the firm, thoughtful line Yuuri had seen all day. A funnier story about Phichits hamsters hiding in their cereal bowls earned him nearly half a smile, and he felt he was making progress.  

While he spoke he studied Victor and tried to compare the man he was seeing now to the other Victors he had stored in his memory. There were light purple bags under his eyes, but maybe he always had those, and they had just been covered with concealer in photos. His cheeks seemed a bit gaunt, but athletes weight fluctuated all the time. The thing that bothered Yuuri most was his smile, or rather lack thereof. Yuuri knew he couldn’t count on interviews or press related things to be an accurate gauge of what Victor is normally like, but he had been searching for Victor in the background of images and other skaters interviews for years. He knew Victor could smile so large it filled his whole face and lit up his eyes. Mostly he just felt it in his heart that Victor should always be smiling. Smiling widely and filled with joy.

Yuri had also mentioned the other night that Victor was always joking at the rink and bothering everyone to talk to him, so that could be closer to normal. This Victor had hardly spoken a handful of full sentences to him in the time they had been together. A quick glance at the stove clock told him it had been nearly three hours since he had arrived. How much longer did Yuuri have before his time with Victor was up?

“So, you are from Japan, then you went to America, and now you are back in Japan. What brings you to Russia?”

Yuuri nearly dropped his fork onto his plate. He knew this would be asked, and had even prepared what to say (a little lie and a little truth), but it still caught him off guard. He couldn’t just say ‘I don’t think you are happy so I convinced an entire group of people to fund my flight to come check on you, even though we have never spoken before and you are probably fine.’, although those were the exact words that wanted to spill out of his mouth. He held them back and said what he practiced instead.

“I am on a cultural exchange trip as a goodwill ambassador from the JSF. It is really so they can write a bunch of articles about me and make me popular again after I messed up so badly last year. I have been at your skating rink all week getting to know everyone. They are all so friendly. I was excited to see you, but you never came in. Eventually I was able to convince Yuri to help me meet you. Sorry we showed up uninvited. I think he tried to call but you did not answer. He told me that you would be ok with meeting me again, otherwise I would not have come. I mean you seem like you do not mind me being here, I hope I am not interrupting anything, aside from the delivery, did you have plans today I can leave if you have plans you are probably…”

Yuuri may have strayed a bit from his script at the end would have kept talking forever if Victor hadn’t held his hands up and interrupted him.

“It is fine. I am glad you are here. I had no other plans. I would apologize for not taking you out to a nice restaurant like I normally treat guests, but your cooking was so good that I am not sorry I got to enjoy this meal here with you. I am glad little Yura was smart enough to ignore my wishes to be left alone. I should give him more credit.”

“No you shouldn’t! He has spent the last week insulting me endlessly. I don’t call him out on it because he seems to do it to everyone, but really it’s too much to bear. How do you all do it?”

“Eh, he is young, and he has been through a lot. The others must be behaving well since you are there because usually we are all pushing him around and giving as good as we get. Did you know that I was the one who gave the first batch of kitten ears to Yuuri’s Angels? I bought a whole bag of them after he first tried to make his branding the ‘ice tiger’ Now it’s their thing, and they buy them by the hundreds. He hates it! It’s so funny.”

There it was, the beginnings of the beaming smile. Victor’s eyes were looking far away, remembering some moment in time that made him happy, and his lips parted in a smile that showed his teeth. Yuuri just needed to keep him on this train of thought.

“He seems to get away with a lot from what I see - maybe you need to be back at the rink to keep him in check.”

It had been a mistake. Victor’s mouth went flat and his eyes glinted once in anger before going hazy again. Lost. Unhappy. The opposite of what they should be.

“No, I am just a distraction there. I talk too much and interrupt everyone and I’m sure it’s much better on Yakov’s blood pressure that I am gone.”

Abruptly Victor stood to carry his plate to the sink. There was still plenty of food on it, Victor had hardly touched his portion. Yuuri grabbed the rest of the leftovers and carried them to the kitchen as well. He had already set out a glass container with a lid to hold the remaining food. He intercepted Victor just as he was about to scoop his plate into the trash.

“Wait, here, it can all go in this. I’m sorry, were you not hungry? I thought you said you liked it? Do you not want to keep it for later at least?”

Victor looked at the glass container like it had materialized out of thin air, then down at his plate before he handed it to over to Yuuri to take care of.

“Oh, yes, sorry. I don’t usually make enough to keep. Honestly this is more than I am used to eating recently, I tend to survive on fruit and espresso since I am not, um, exercising, right now.”

It was harder than Victor cared to admit, saying he was no longer skating. It hurt him somewhere deep inside. It was why he had not made an official announcement about his retirement yet. It was too much, he was not ready to say it out loud. He would. Soon. He just had to gather the strength.

Katsuki was carefully spooning ravioli’s into the tupperware Victor hadn’t been aware he owned.  The unspoken question shimmered in the air between them. ‘Why aren’t you skating?’ He was surprised it hadn’t been asked yet. Maybe it had. His phone. He really needed to find his phone and deal with all that. He would. Someday. Soon. When he had more energy to deal with everything.

Nothing was said though. Instead Yuuri washed the dishes in silence while Victor watched him. Why didn’t he ask?

Maybe Katsuki didn’t care. Maybe, like Yuri, he was glad Victor was not competing. Without him everyone was one step closer to the gold after all. Without him everyone was better off.

Victor had gone quiet. Yuuri snuck a look as he put the dish he was holding on the drying rack, and Victor was frowning down at the ground, brows furrowed and eyes stormy. Something was definitely bothering the man.

When he had been sad Phichit helped him by making him think of other things, and forcing him outside. Yuuri could do at least that little bit.

“It has been a few hours, does Makkachin need another walk? I could go with you this time, maybe you could show me your neighborhood? It looked very nice as I was driving through it.”

He looked at Victor hopefully, trying to convey telepathically that it was ok, that he would not pry. His reward was a small smile from the other man, which he was coming to treasure, and a relieved nod.

They spent the next few hours avoiding the subject of skating. They danced around it, cutting sentences off halfway through and allowing odd subject changes. Slowly Yuuri watched Victor loosen up and relax around him. They trade stories about surviving in “the real world”. Victor’s failed kitchen disasters. Yuuri getting lost on the metro. Victor putting an entire cup of soap into the washing machine because he didn't realize the lid was a ‘cup’. Yuuri hiding in odd places to avoid having to speak to people before his english was decent. Yuuri even got the nerve to ask about the poor little cactus. Victor lamented the fact that it would not grow and turned yellow, so he had bought it a photo of what it should look like for support. Yuuri showed him how to water it and moved it to a sunny spot in the apartment. Victor sulked. 

Most importantly Yuuri managed to gather evidence. Victor spends his free time sleeping, drinking coffee, reading, and watching tv. He still stretches and walks Makkachin, but that is the only physical activity. It has been six actual weeks since he has been to the rink in any capacity. Four weeks since he had answered his phone. It was not even charged. Victor says these things like they are jokes, rolling his eyes and smirking as they sit on the couch facing each other cradling espressos. Yuuri makes sure to smile back and try not to panic outwardly. He can worry later, when he is back in his hotel room and can talk it through with someone.

They stayed folded up on the couch until Yuuri’s legs fell asleep. A check of his phone showed it was nearly six pm. He should go back to the hotel and grab his things so he can skate for a few hours tonight. That would be the responsible thing to do. The truth is he could stay like this with Victor until he turns to stone. He is trying to summon the will to stand and leave when Victor speaks.

“Thank you, for coming to visit me. Do you know, no one else has? I did not notice before today, I was busy enjoying my time alone. Your company has been very nice. Thank you.

“Victor, you should really check your phone. People are trying to get in touch with you. It isn’t all press. Some of those people are your friends.”

Victor was stubbornly silent for a moment. Then the half smile returned again.

“If I turn my phone on, will you give me your phone number, so I can call you someday?”

Yuuri tried not to blush this time, he really did. One would think eight hours later these things wouldn’t affect him so much.

“If that is what it takes, then yes, I would be happy to give you my number.” His phone is still in his hand, so he passes it over to Victor. “Enter yours and I will text you, that way you already have it before I even leave.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“I have to go put in some hours at the rink tonight. Some of us need to make up for bombing at the final last year. I won’t get on the podium this year if I lounge around on your couch all day. Would you like to join me? I will be working with Yuri if he’s there. We are going to train our jumps together.”

Victor shakes his head, and his eyes dart around the room uncomfortably. Suddenly he is up, tossing Yuuri’s phone back down onto the couch between them and sailing into the kitchen to refill his cup.

“No, thank you. I will be fine here. Have fun. Enjoy. Good Luck. Do you need me to call you a cab?”

Yuuri knew he had pushed too hard, but he needed to see what Victor’s reaction would be. What had him so scared about skating? Why was he so reluctant? This was not the day to find out. He had Victor’s number now though. Maybe he could talk to him over the phone about it. He had discovered enough for today.

They stood awkwardly outside, waiting for the car to arrive. When the red and white vehicle pulled up Victor stepped forward to open the door for Yuuri, looking sad and slightly wistful. Yuuri couldn’t help but feel like he wanted to do more to help him. Without even thinking about it he took a step forward and put his arms around the man he had looked up to for years, hoping to transfer some of his energy and hope and happiness to him. After a second he felt tentative arms press lightly against him, and held on tighter reflexively. Logically he knew that he couldn’t literally hold Victor together to keep him from drifting apart, and that he certainly could not single handedly help Victor, but the feeling of Victor safe and solid in his arms did a lot to alleviate his stress about the situation.

Makkachin, who had been waiting patiently beside them, whined and licked at Yuuri’s pants not wanting to be left out. Yuuri laughed and let go of Victor to hug her as well, then he climbed into the car and watched their figures grow smaller as he was driven away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK - this chapter was a disaster. Last chapter was really just one long avoidance of having them actually talk to each other, if you didn't notice. (also, I switched the POV's in the last chapter to flow smoother. You aren't crazy, I did flip them. Sorry. The disadvantage of posting as I write, sometimes I change my mind.) 
> 
> Eventually I figured out that the reason I was having so much trouble having them interact was because everything they said/though was soooo ooc that I felt like I was betraying the characters. Then I remembered that the whole point of this story is that it IS ooc. Yuuri and Victor here are NOT the same ones we met in the show. Yuuri has been bossed around/coddled/and emotionally and artistically supported by Minako for three months now. He toured and met fans and gave interviews and produced his own program - he's feeling pretty good about himself. 
> 
> Victor is also different. We will learn more about how he has spent his time next chapter, but we know that at the least he has spent the last SIX WEEKS holed up in his apartment not talking to anyone but his dog. There is a reason for that, I promise you. He is not the Victor we know and love right now. 
> 
> I am basing the differences in Yuuri's depression and Victor's depression on the way my husband and I are different when we are depressed. I am like Yuuri - I choose a project and work on it until it's perfect because that makes me feel better about myself. I need to be productive, but not on something anyone else wants from me. I barely sleep because I am too busy thinking. My depression is usually seasonal or based around an event, and temporary.
> 
> My husband gets deeper longer depression that has no basis whatsoever. He just can't get motivated, becomes negative about everything, and wants to just zone out and sleep all day, loses interest in things he usually enjoys, and can't think about his problems because they overwhelm him. 
> 
> They are both depression, but everyone is different. The key is recognizing your symptoms, and knowing what steps you have to take to live with it. Here is a handy link.
> 
> https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/publications/depression-what-you-need-to-know/index.shtml


	6. Is a little bit better than nothing at all?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri demands his payment from Yuuri, Victor and Yuuri go on 'not a date', and I hope everyone is keeping track of how long Yuuri's vacation is because the Russians sure aren't. 
> 
> When texting Victor is always on the right, and whoever he is texting will be on the left.
> 
> If you have forgotten what just happened, this starts after Yuuri leaves Victor's apartment on thursday night. If you have forgotten what that means, read the whole fic over. If you have forgotten who Yuuri and Victor are, go re-watch Yuri on Ice. Good luck!

Just as everyone was getting off the ice to go home Katsuki walked through the archway with his skate bag over his shoulder and Yuri couldn’t be fucking happier to see him. He hated half days with a passion, and Yakov never let him skate by himself after hours. Sometimes he could convince Mila to stay for a while, but she would always start whining after an hour and ruin his mood. At least Katsuki was quiet.

More importantly it meant they could start working on the quad flip now instead of tomorrow. Yuri was good, but only one day to learn a new jump was asking a bit much even from him.

There was also the small vindictive pleasure that if Yuuri was here it meant he was no longer at Victor’s, doing whatever they had been doing all day. The idea that those two might have spent the night together if Yuuri hadn’t shown up made him feel weird so he tried not to think about it. Instead he was here, and they would trade jumps, and then Katsuki would go home to Japan and Yuri could move on with his life.

In the meantime he had to find a way to distract Katsuki so he didn’t tell anyone what they were doing. Technically he was breaking almost every order Yakov had ever lay down for him, and while he was fairly certain he couldn’t be kicked off the team now you never knew with Yakov. So he just had to delay until everyone left.

As far as he knew there were two surefire ways to get Katsuki’s attention - food and Victor. While he didn’t particularly want to share either one, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Mila had the poor man trapped in a corner while she flipped her hair and subtly tugged her shirt down to show more cleavage. Disgusting. She looked like cat cornering a mouse.

Yuri slipped under her arm and grabbed Katsuki, yanking him out of her sphere of influence. “Back off, hag” slipped out of his mouth, and the statement shocked all three of them to various degrees. The look on Mila’s face was more confusion than insult, since she had been the burden of many an angry rant about Katsuki since day one. Katsuki’s face transformed from utter scandalized surprise to disappointed father in the span of a few seconds. Yuri hadn’t meant for the words to come out quite so harshly, so he mumbled an apology to the now pouting female even as he continued to drag the other skater toward the kitchen.

Once there he pushed Katsuki into one of the hard plastic chairs, commanding him to sit. The other man didn’t argue, but did cross his arms and huff in indignance. Yuri pulled his prized brown paper back out of the fridge and set it’s contents carefully onto a baking sheet and tucked them into the toaster oven, watching closely to make sure they didn’t shift or burn. No microwave for his babies. They deserved only the best. A glance over at Katsuki showed he was on his phone, frowning at something. It would be ten minutes until the food was ready, so he might as well try to find out what had happened today and how badly putting the two of them into the same room was going to affect everyone.

“So, how did it go?” He tried for unaffected and offhand, but the grinding of his teeth made the line come out blunter than he planned.

Katsuki looked up from his phone and raised his eyebrows. “Do you actually care?”

That pissed Yuri off. “Of course I care dipshit. I was the one who took you there, wasn’t I? You were on a quest to find out if he was still going to skate. So did you find out, or did you spend eight hours staring at him and drooling?”

“I thought you just wanted me to teach you the flip?”

Yuri opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He _had_ just wanted the flip, but now Yuuri put these ideas in his head of Victor maybe not being happy, which didn’t make sense because Victor was always happy. It irritated him that Katsuki might be right, because everything didn’t add up and wasn’t normal and Yuri had fought hard to get to a state of normality in his life after being moved around so much and how dare anyone try to ruin that. So yes, learning the flip despite it being off limits was important, but dammit so was Victor.

He wasn’t about to say that though, so he just shrugged and turned back to watching his lunch. Two more minutes until they had to be turned so they re-heated evenly.

Eventually Katsuki sighed. “He wouldn’t talk about skating. Anytime it came up in conversation he would change the subject or walk away. I invited him to join us and he…”

Yuri panicked, a bone deep fear that made his blood rush and propelled him to kneel next to Katsuki’s chair.

“You didn’t tell him what we were doing, did you?”

“No, I mean, I said we were working on jumps”

“Did you tell him which ones? Have you told anyone else?”

“No. Why? What’s wrong?”

Katsuki looked so genuinely worried, and that made Yuri feel a tiny bit guilty for just the briefest second. Not enough to cancel everything, but it was the thought that counted right?

“I just, um, I want it to be a surprise, that’s all. No big deal. So don’t tell anyone.”

The other man clearly wasn’t buying it, but for whatever reason he agreed after a second, and Yuri let out a deep breath in relief. Then he remembered his guard duty and sprang up and over to the neglected toaster oven. While he fussed Katsuki checked his phone again, sighing and then tossing it back down on the counter next to him, agitated about something.

“So, if you didn’t talk about skating, what did you talk about?”

“Not much. He was pretty quiet so I did most of the talking. I did find out that aside from getting groceries delivered and taking Makkachin on walks he hasn’t left the house for weeks. He just reads and watches tv.”

“Well, sure. What else is he supposed to do? That’s what I do on my days off.”

“Are you sure? You don’t meet up with friends or go to the movies or go shopping or…”

Yuri cut him off before he can say anything else. “I get the point. I guess, sometimes. Victor used to force Yakov to give us all the same day off so we could all go to lunch or something, or him or Mila would drag me out to whatever lame parade or movie or whatever they wanted to do. Sometimes it was fun, but mostly I wanted to be at home alone. So I understand why he’s doing that is all I’m saying.”

“Right. One day, maybe a weekend is fine.  But could you stay inside for six weeks? Day after day with just your own thoughts?”

Yuri didn’t want to admit defeat, so he stubbornly stared at the toaster oven and refused to respond. He could probably do it, if it was a challenge. It would just be boring as fuck.

“I still don’t see what’s wrong with it, even if it’s not normal. It’s his time, so what if he wants to spend it doing nothing. Maybe he’s just being lazy. Why read so much into it?”

Katsuki just looked at him with this gaze that seemed a thousand years old, then shook his head and dropped the subject. Whatever.

There was silence for a moment and then finally the timer pinged, signaling dinner was ready. Carefully he arranged the buns on two plates. At first he put three on his plate and one on Katsuki’s, but then he looked to see him staring at his phone again with that ‘sad puppy who’s been kicked face’ and divided them equally. He should be nominated for sainthood at some point.

Carrying the plates carefully he set one down in front of Katsuki, who looked up at him befuddled.

“Mushroom, cabbage, and trout pirozhki. I made them. Eat. Don’t you dare shout any Russian words though, stick to English.”

Katsuki looked down at his plate like it was made of gold and contained the most precious of objects, which in Yuri’s opinion wasn’t far from the truth. He watched him take his first bite and his eyes got even wider and and he made cute little head bobbing motions as he chewed and tried to smile around the food. It was almost criminal how easily entertained this guy could be. Yuri noticed the twin smile on his own face a fraction too late, so he began to eat to cover it up. The delicious flavor only made him happier though, and they enjoyed their meal together for a few minutes. As they polished off the last of the pirozhki Yuri wondered if it had been long enough that everyone was gone.  

When Katsuki checked his phone and sighed for the fifty billionth time Yuri couldn’t stand it any more, he had to know.

“Why do you keep looking at your phone every two seconds? Waiting for someone to call you? Do you even have friends?”

A light shade of pink dusted the cheeks of the Japanese man, and he firmly shoved his phone into his bag out of sight.

“Sorry, I did not mean to be rude. I tried to get Victor to promise me to turn his phone on, and I was curious if he did or not. He was suppose to text me…”

Yuri threw his arms into the air, suffering flashbacks of Victor draping himself despairingly over the side of the rink while he moaned about how Yuuri ignored him and never contacted him. Those were the worst weeks of his life. He had finally been allowed to work with Victor Nikiforov, living legend, who had won every gold medal possible and had agreed to choreograph his senior debut. Victor had been on two weeks of vacation after the World's Championship, but now that he was back at the rink Yuri was going to collect on his promise. And what did he get? A pining obnoxious fool who wouldn’t stop mooning about Katsuki and made him skate about undying love.

“You left like an hour ago! You’re as bad as he is! Hopeless, both of you. I’m done. We are done talking about this. Put your skates on. Warm up. I’m going to clean up here.

 

Thirty minutes later Yuri declared that warm up was done. Everyone was gone and it was just the two of them and the hush of the rink.

Katsuki cleared his throat.

“Ok, so the quad flip. It’s like a triple flip, but with, uh, four spins. Can you do a triple flip?”

Yuri sneered. “Of course I can do a triple flip.”

“Right. Well, the flip is similar to the salchow in that they both take off from the back inside edge, but the flip let’s you use your toe pick to launch. Oh, and you have to land on the opposite foot. But the thing I discovered is the toe pick part actually slows your jump down a lot. Especially since you already so good at the Salchow. I recommend barely touching the pick to the ice. I think that’s part of how I do it.’

“You think…”

“Yea, and bring your arms in really early, like before you even take off if you can. It might not seem like those few seconds on the first rotation make much of a difference but I’m pretty sure they do.”

Yuri narrowed his eyes at the older skater. Katsuki hadn’t made eye contact with him during that entire ‘explanation’, and had given him nothing his first skating tutor hadn’t taught him years ago. Something wasn’t right here. If he didn’t know better…

“Do one right now.”

“One what”

“Quad flip. Do. One. Right. Now.”

“Yea, sure, ok, I’ll just do that then.”

Katsuki skated to the other side of the rink. He shook his hands out, took a deep breath in and out, fixed a look of determination on his face, and took off. Yuri could immediately tell he was going way too fast to do the jump right, so when he took off like a rocket and landed nearly horizontally he was not surprised. There were those famous nerves.

Katsuki was still laying on the ice, like he didn’t want to get up. Pathetic, yet strangely poetic in a tragic kinda way.

“Are you done falling? Now that you have that out of your system can you please do the jump properly so I’m not wasting my time here.”

He got to his feet again and nodded as he skated back to his starting spot, head down and face screwy. If he started crying Yuri was going to deck him. Crying over falling was moronic. Everybody falls. It happens. No big deal. How else are you supposed to learn?

This time the take off speed was much more controlled, with closer attention paid to each of his movements. Good.

The take-off was almost perfect, his hands meeting exactly in the middle of his chest, legs crossed below the knee with the ankles close together to conserve momentum. He had never liked the Flip much when Victor did it, it looked too showy and elongated. Something about Yuuri being slimmer and darker than Victor made the whole picture much more appealing.

Then Katsuki was crashing to the ground again, this time landing sharply on his hip with his arms thrown out to slow him from sliding across the ice.

The hands splayed out on the ice ball into fists, and a shaky voice reached up to Yuri.

“I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I lied to you. I just wanted to meet him so I said I could do it.”

“You did it last night. You CAN do it. So get back up and fucking do it.”

“I told you _I can’t_. I could only do it last night because I was performing Victor’s choreography. He sets it up in a way that it can’t fail. It had nothing to do with me.

“ _Zadrota_. That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Of course it was you! It was your body that did the work. You want to know Victor’s trick? He choreographs everything tight, one move after the other so you barely have time to breathe and all you can do is just skate, because if you pause for even a second you are behind. He makes it so you can’t overthink, only ‘feeeeeel’. It’s deranged, but it works. So stop thinking and start feeling and do the damn jump right.”

Katsuki stood shakily, and looked like he wanted to argue. Yuri was not having that. He was promised a quad flip and he does not let people back out on their promises.

“Look crybaby. You are the only person who can do the flip around here, and you owe me bigtime. You are going to put on Victor’s music, and you are going to do his routine again, and I am going to film the flip. Got it?”

“If that all you want, why not just study Victor’s flip? I’m sure there are ton’s of them on Youtube…”

The idea of having to watch Victor parade around over and over was repulsive to Yuri, and he shuddered from the thought. He would much rather watch Yuuri.

“No. I need you here to watch me and film my attempts and tell me what I am doing wrong. I can’t do this by myself, and you are stuck helping me. So get your phone hooked up and que the damn Italian barf fest.”

Yuuri smiles one of those dumb small smiles that make Yuri feel like he did something right, and skates to get his phone.

It was going to be a long night.

 

The next morning Victor woke to bright sun, incessant whining, and dog breath. Makkachin was on the bed, licking his hand furiously because she could not wait a moment longer before she had to pee. His body felt like stone, heavy and unmoving. It would be so easy to just go back to sleep. His eyes drift closed again but Makkachin scooted up the bed and then there was a cold nose on his neck and a wet tongue on his cheek. Truth be told it was only for his beloved girl that he rose from bed at all most days. Maybe he should buy a house with a yard so she can come and go as she pleased.

The idea of him being responsible enough to be a homeowner was amusing. His brain happily supplied him with images of falling off ladders and hammering his thumbs. He could barely look after his dog, clearly he should not be in charge of much else.

Slowly he peeled himself out of bed, going straight to his hamper since he knew his dresser was empty. There were clothes tossed on the floor surrounding the basket and Victor stared at them for a minute, confused. Then he noticed the white cord running from the outlet up the side of the dresser and into his mobile phone, and it all came back to him.

After Yuuri got into the cab last night Victor allowed Makkachin to lead him across the street for her to do her business, then they went upstairs and he fell straight into bed and slept until three am. Surprisingly it was a dreamless, deep slumber, but he woke with the feeling he had forgotten to do something important. The phone. Yuuri. In a half asleep panic he dug down to the bottom of the hamper and rescued the abandoned device, plugging it in to charge before crawling back into bed feeling at ease.

A sharp bark pulled him back to the current moment, so he threw on the same messy clothes from yesterday and rushed outside with Makkachin. A quick look up at the sun gave Victor a guess at about nine am. The groceries had come yesterday, which meant today was either Tuesday or Friday. Peering down the street showed the beginnings of set up for the farmers market, so it was Friday. Yuuri would probably enjoy the large open air market…

When had he become Yuuri again and not Katsuki?

_Probably around the time he hugged you and smelt of citrus and Makkachin and everything that is missing from your life that you will never have._

Ah. Yes. Well...

_No problem. Feel free to ask foolish questions any time. I will supply the obvious answers._

Apparently during the last thirteen hours his subconscious realized that he was not and will never be over Katsuki Yuuri.

It was a shame really. He finally was interested in someone after so long, and he had to choose someone who was so far out of his league it was laughable. Yuuri had basic skills ingrained in him that Victor had never managed to pick up, and it was clearly too late to start now. Cooking, cleaning, and plant care all seemed to come easily to him. Yuuri probably didn’t have to take constant notes on his phone to remember important meetings, or hire a team to manage his public image because he carelessly insulted people and was exceedingly flamboyant and childish when he was supposed to be a heartthrob.

More than that Yuuri seemed to have something deeper in his core being that Victor lacked; an ability to empathize and connect with people. Everyone he came in contact with instantly felt protective and enamored with ‘the skater with the glass heart’. When he first heard that nickname he thought for sure it must have been a marketing gimmick chosen for him by the JSF. Yakov could only wish he had a skater that could be construed as demure and humble. Now that he was getting to know Yuuri he wondered if it wasn’t true.

Yuuri even seemed to affect people he never met. Victor had seen the outpouring of support for the man after the Grand Prix, and moreso after Japanese Nationals. Yuuri’s fans defended their sweet fragile skater tirelessly, citing reasons for his low scores, railing at the judges, and sending him endless messages to keep going and not give up. When Victor made the smallest mistake while skating the outcome was ‘he’s losing it’ and ‘maybe someone else will win for a change’.  

Yet Victor still couldn’t shake the images of Yuuri staring straight at him while he exuded confidence and appeal on that damn pole. He was having a hard time reconciling the downtrodden competitor with the wild party animal or the congenial guest who cooked him dinner the night before. How were all these identities a part of one person?

In the end it didn’t matter. The point was Yuuri deserved more than Victor could give, and Victor doesn’t deserve anything at all.

Heading back upstairs Victor followed his routine of setting up the coffee machine and then going to lounge in the bed while he read the local newspaper. He pulled up the comforter, arranged his pillows, and opened the paper when he saw his phone sitting on top of the dresser.

Yuuri.

Yuuri said he would text him.

Victor had put his number into Yuuri’s phone specifically so Yuuri could text him.

He was supposed to text Yuuri back.

That meant he had to turn his phone on.

It meant he had to deal with the myriad of calls and emails and text messages that he had avoided. It meant he had to turn on instagram and snapchat and twitter and see that all the other skaters were preparing for the season without him. It meant he had to make apologies and excuses to fans and press and his employees.

Mostly, it meant he had to face his decision head on.

Instead, he avoided going in his bedroom to look at the phone. He took a long hot shower. Then had coffee. Fed Makkachin. Had the last of the raviolis. Considered a second shower just to waste more time. Lay on his couch and re-read the same page of his book multiple times without retaining any of the words.

As the minutes ticked by he felt more and more guilt over not texting Yuuri. Yuuri, who had made time to visit him. Yuuri, who had made lunch and shared stories about his personal life. Yuuri, who had made him smile and had not asked the questions he was clearly dying to ask. He should turn the phone on. For Yuuri. It was wrong not too.

Some endless amount of time later he was still laying on his couch in the same position, with his book slowly slipping off his chest, staring at the ceiling. Why was this so hard?

The espresso machine sounded at the same time his book finally fell to the floor. The twin sounds startled him out of his thoughts, and he managed to find the energy to drag himself up to pour out another cup of the ambrosia that kept him going. Makkachin looked up briefly to see that he was just getting more coffee, then fell back asleep with the ease that old dogs have. If the caffeine kicked in he would be able to do what he needed to do. Probably.

It’s just his phone. He loved his phone. Yakov used to tease that he should just marry his phone already since it was all he ever looked at. Yakov also didn’t believe he would ever be capable of marrying anything due to his short attention span, but that was beside the point. The point was he should not be so intimidated by his phone. Once he got all the calls and texts out of the way it could be a source of joy again. He was probably exaggerating the number of people trying to contact him anyway. So he had gone quiet for a few weeks. So what?

His hands only trembled slightly as they unplugged the device from it’s cord. His legs only felt a little weak as he took the five steps to his bed and lay on his side. If his body curled in on itself around the phone it was because that was a comfortable position, not because he was distressed over a five inch piece of metal and glass.

With a deep breath he allowed his finger to push in on the power button. Nothing happened for a moment. He breathed out. Breathed in again. The apple logo appeared and his breathing hitched. Silly. Victor held the phone cradled in his hands close to his face, with his knees bumping his elbows and the sun coming in through the window warming his back.

His shut his eyes so he didn’t have to see the glowing apple judge him, and the blue and red swirls that met him were strangely comforting. He was well acquainted with his swirls. They were familiar. Take a deep breath. Part of being a fully functioning adult was dealing with unpleasant tasks. This was why you stopped skating. To find more. To find out if you could function in the larger world.

So far the answer was probably no. It had been more than a month and he had succeeded at nothing except breaking one of the buildings washing machines, burning a lot of food, and giving up.

Yes, he had given up spectacularly. Top scores. New Record. Can’t wash the clothes? Don’t go outside. Can’t cook? Have everything delivered to you. Can’t make conversation with the cute barista because you can barely speak about anything other than yourself and skating? Don’t go to that coffee shop anymore. Easy.

It was easy and it was the exact opposite of what Victor had originally set out to do. If he wanted easy he wouldn’t have let go of Svetlana, who had kept his home dust free and his clothing clean and neatly folded in familiar places for so many years. It had felt so liberating when he told her that he was going to be taking care of his own home from now on, but the piles of worn clothing flung about the room mocked that promise.

While the phone was still considering loading its dozens of apps and hundreds of photo’s Victor reached down and pulled his navy blue fuzzy blanket over his body and up to his shoulders. The loft was already warm but he liked the feeling of being sheltered.

It almost reminded him of Yuuri’s hug, except that the blanket didn’t grip him as tightly. For a brief second he closed his eyes and imagined the feeling of Yuuri lying here on the bed in front of him, holding him and staring into his eyes and smiling at him while they had their arms wrapped around each other's waists. He could almost physically feel the sensation and it made his chest ache. An ache that started years ago when one after the other he watched his fellow competitors meet someone, fall in love, and retire. Sometimes, like Chris, they fell in love and kept skating, flaunting their love at the kiss and cry without even having to touch. He could read it in their eyes, the calculating glances they threw each other of “When is the conference finished?” and “Do you have the room key ready?”

If Victor had a love he would touch them all the time, and no one could stop him. He had spent years daydreaming about showing off his love at the rink or on a date. He would tie up their skates for them perfectly. They didn’t have to skate professionally, but often in his fantasies they would skate together in lazy circles on Victor’s days off. Stolen kisses and hugs from behind would be a must in the Nikiforov household.  He would fix their scarf before they went out into the Russian cold and welcome them back with hot soup and and then curl up on the couch with them to keep warm.

Victor felt a tear leak out of his eye and roll onto his pillow and cursed himself for being so stupid and sentimental. He had always been the only skater that needed hugs from Yakov, and his coach eventually got him a dog just so he had something to funnel his affection into. On hot summer days even Makkachin couldn’t stand his clingy need for being held, since she easily overheated and would struggle out of his arms to go lay on the cool tile in the bathroom.

He was pathetic. He was alone. He was lonely.

He couldn’t even talk about how lonely he was to interviewers, or about wanting a partner. It made the sponsors nervous. He had sent the message out subliminally with his music choice last season, but no one even noticed. The only person who had asked was Michelle Crispino, in the beginning of the season. “So sorry to bother you sir, but did you know they mixed up the pronouns? Your male singer is singing to another male.” He had to explain to the boy that yes, he was aware of the translation of the Italian lyrics, that he had the song commissioned that way. From then on he made sure the announcers included the fact that he had the music written just for this skate but no one caught on, either thinking it was a mistake or not bothering to translate. It was just pretty music, why bother. It’s all about the jumps anyway. Will you ever add that quad loop to your programs?

The highlight of last season was watching his sponsors and image consultant throw a fit when they found out via an Italian message board of all places. Not that getting yelled at was new or different for him, but it had been entertaining until they threatened to remove all his revenue sources if he did not comply with the more masculine image they set for him.

It was a game of push and pull they had been playing for years, ever since Victor had turned eighteen and become an eligible bachelor that brought them gold and revenue. In return they gave him a home, a place to skate, and creative control over his own programs. It hadn’t been too terrible. Wink at the ladies, wear the clothes your sponsors send, don’t mention your sexuality, cut your hair, be discrete unless it’s a woman, how about a manicure instead of nail polish?

He remembers when Yakov first brought in Georgi, who was two years younger than him. Victor was so excited that he offered to paint his nails. The proud thirteen year old refused, saying that was little girl stuff. Victor had never given much thought to gender, enjoying his long hair and soft pastel fabrics and handsome boys just as much as he enjoyed dark colors and working out and cute girls. Georgi was never comfortable around Victor at that age, and by the time they both grew past caring about appearances they were already too different, and Georgi considered Victor a rival. It was good because the rivalry pushed them both harder, but that was just another friendship lost.

Victor wondered if Anya was treating him well. Georgi was a good man. Maybe this year, without Victor diverting everyone’s attention Georgi could shine.

Suddenly his phone vibrated and pinged and whistled and vibrated some more as the device came to life, updating and receiving information. One message after another scrolled down his lock screen. Missed calls, emails, texts, alerts, notifications. Instantly he regretted this decision. When everything was finally quiet and still for a full minute he checked the damage. 31 voicemail messages. 102 text’s. 243 DM’s on twitter. 486 instagram notifications. There were red bubbles screaming at him from every app. It was too much. He dropped the phone and pulled the blanket up over his head, reveling in the warmth and darkness. He could just stay here under his blanket forever. Very few people knew where to find him. He doubted any of them would actually come looking.

Here, in the darkness of his little blanket cave, he could admit that he hurt. So many people wanted to talk to him so badly, but none had made any more effort than a few taps on their phone. It had been six weeks and the only people who had dropped by were Yuri Plisetsky to yell at him for neglecting his choreographer duties and Yuuri Katsuki, the only person Victor hadn’t expected to try.

He had to text Yuuri. He had to pick up his phone, ignore all the angry red dots and fake friends, and text Yuuri. Reaching outside of the blanket cave to grope for his phone took a few seconds, but he found it and pulled it into the darkness with him. When he hit the home button the brightness of the phone nearly blinded him, but he adjusted after a few seconds of squinting and tapped the messaging app. At the top was a number with a foreign country code.

+ **81-90-1790-1357**

This is Yuuri Katsuki.

Thank you so much for your kindness and for

spending time with me in your home.

Next time you are in Japan I will be happy to return the favor.

_Yesterday 6:42pm_

 

I guess you have not turned on your phone yet.

Have a nice rest.

_Yesterday 10:34pm_

Good morning. Did you turn your phone on?

I will be at the rink all day today.

Feel free to text me and keep me from boredom.

_7:31 am_

How to respond? Diplomatic vague statements used to be his specialty, but now he just couldn’t be bothered. He couldn’t say “nice to meet you” since they had certainly met before, although neither one of them had mentioned the night of the gala. Yuuri seemed determined to pretend like it never even happened. At the very least they were both good at running away from things. Maybe that was something they could bond over. Composing a response took him entirely too long. 

japan sounds lovely thank you for the invitation

it was nice 2 properly get 2 know you

_12:14 pm_

 

ps if u r bored help Yura

w/ step sequences

he could learn a lot from you

_12:15:pm_

+ **81-90-1790-1357**

You turned your phone on!

How many hundreds of missed calls do you have lol?

Is Yura Yuri?

I am not allowed near the ice

during practice hours,

only in the locker room or break rooms.

_12:16_

 

We are at lunch right now at a VERY Russian restaurant.

Everyone keeps trying to get me to eat weird dishes.

What is borscht anyway?

No one will tell me.

Looks like blood.

_12:17_

 i have too many things on this phone

its 2 much 2 look at

_12:17_

 

borsht is amazing

vegatable soup

kinda sour

r u at podvorye????????

they make it best

i haven’t had it in so long

_12:18_

I think that is where we are.

It took a long time to get here.

Everyone is laughing

because Yakov will be mad.

They are going to be late and full

when they get back.

 _12:20_  

Victor could picture the whole thing. Podvorye is a tourist spot on the outskirts of St. Petersburg near Pavlosk Palace. It was made to look like a old Russian hunting lodge and there is usually live folk music playing. The boisterous team would be sitting at one of the long tables in the grand hall surrounding Yuuri on all sides, scooping spoonfuls of strange foods onto his plate. The skaters liked it because it was vegetarian friendly, and the atmosphere was great for silly selfies.

On instinct Victor’s finger moved to open instagram, and he was rewarded with a photo of Mila hugging the giant stuffed bear by the front door, next to an unsure Yuuri timidly laying a hand on its shoulder. Next was a long shot of the table, with everyone seemingly trying to give Yuuri recommendations and waving their menu’s at him and talking with their hands. Poor Yuuri looked ready to melt back into his chair to escape. Lastly was a photo of none other than Yuri Plisetsky who had taken up the chair next to Yuuri and was huddled over a menu with him, carefully explaining the dishes. Mila had added #icetigerofRussia #tamethewildbeast and Victor actually laughed out loud, the sound rusty and muted in his blanket cave.

On the one hand Victor wished he could be there, sharing in their fun and having Yuuri’s attention on him. On the other he knew he would find the lights too bright, the car ride too long, the voices around him too loud. He was not used to it all now. Yuuri would probably have more fun without Victor “making everything about himself” as Yura always accused him of.

He had just finished entering Yuuri’s number into his contact list when his phone lit up with a new message.

**Yuri K.**

If you want I could bring you

some food when I am done here.

We could go through your phone

messages together?

I find things aren’t as difficult

when I have someone helping me.

_12:28_

Victor re-read the words several times to make sure they were real. He was still trying to re-read them when they blurred and swam due to the tears that had pooled in his eyes. When he could no longer see the screen he turned over and buried his face his pillow. He felt the bed dip next to him and warm dog breath invaded his space as Makkachin tried to nose her way under the blanket. Pulling the blanket back for fresh air opened him up for face licks and hand nips until he started laughing again, pulling his pup in for cuddles. He was still breathing shakily and his heart was pounding, but the tears had stopped as abruptly as they had started.

Yuuri wanted to see him again. Yuuri knew he was a mess who didn’t leave the apartment or know how to do chores and he still wanted to see him. Voluntarily. Of his own free will.

It took him a moment, but Victor finally realized his heart was pounding because of how happy he was.

It took time for Victor to collect himself enough to answer back, and by the time he was ready he was panicked that he had waited too long. Mila was still uploading photos from the restaurant, so Victor hoped they hadn’t left already. Victor struggled even longer to figure out how to respond without sounding too desperate and gave up halfway though, deciding desperate was fine. 

i would love it if you came over agian

bring vegetarian borsht pls.

we will need it to get through phone mess

_12:49 pm_

 

can we do lawndry too?

i have no clothes

i will pay you a million dollars

_12:51pm_

Victor included a long string of money signs, happy faces, and hearts, despairing over the fact that there wasn’t a washing machine emoji. There absolutely should be.

  **Yuri K**

Haha yes we can do laundry.

Sort it out so it’s ready when I get there.

Will probably be around 3pm.

See you then!

_12:55pm_

Sort it out? Sort what out? The laundry? The detergent? The clothes? Should he ask Yuuri for more instructions than ‘sort it out’? How vital was it that it be sorted out? Maybe he meant sort out the kitchen for lunch. Maybe Victor should sort out his emotions before Yuuri showed up again.

Victor updated instagram again and was greeted by a shirtless Christophe lifting weights at the gym. Christophe might know what ‘sort it out’ meant! Then he wouldn’t have to bother Yuuri more while he was out having fun. 

do you sort lawndry???

_12:58pm_

**Chris G.**

Victor?? You are alive!

Of course I sort my laundry

How are you?

What’s going on?

_12:59_

Yuri is coming over to teach me

how 2 do laundry

he said sort it out

what does that mean

_1:00 pm_

Put the colors/darks/and whites in piles

A teenager is teaching you to do laundry?

He doesn’t seem like the helpful type

I’m surprised

_1:02pm_

Not yura, yuri katsuki from japan

do I make every color a separate pile?

how big should the piles be?

_1:03 pm_

In seconds his phone was blaring out “SexyBack” by Justin Timberlake and a photo of baby faced Chris skating in 2010 in a suit that was half unbuttoned (both shirt and pants) lit up the screen. The photo made him laugh every time and that short program was one of his favorite pick-me-up videos.

“Hi Chris! How was your workout!”

“Don’t ‘how was your workout me’ Victor Nikiforov. What do you mean Yuuri Katsuki is going to teach you how to do laundry? Where are you?

“I’m at home. Yuuri is coming over in a few hours and I need to have the laundry sorted. I explained this.”

“Nice try, but you explained nothing. Start from the beginning please. How did Yuuri come to be in Russia at your apartment? Did you finally decide to just go kidnap him like I told you to months ago?”

“NO. He’s on some sort of cultural ambassador mission. I don’t know. He showed up at my door yesterday and we had lunch. I spent the whole day in shock, it was like a dream. I hadn’t heard a word from him since the gala and then he just shows up here? I thought that was all, but now he wants to come over _again_ and I don’t have any clothes because I don’t know how to do laundry and I let go Svetlana because I am an idiot and honestly now I don’t know what to think anymore. What does he want from me Chris?”

Christophe snickered “I think we both know what he wants from you Victor.”

“CHRIS!” Victor could feel his face turning pink, which only seemed to happen when he thought of Yuuri half naked and clinging to him. “I honestly think that was just the alcohol. He was here for most of the day and didn’t flirt with me once, and he didn’t challenge me to any dance-offs.”

“Too bad, you enjoyed it so much last time.”

“Chris, be serious for a second please. What do I do?”

“Serve champagne with dinner.”

“I said be serious!”

“I am being serious! He needs to loosen up, he’s too high strung.”

“I’m not trying to seduce him Chris.”

“Then why are you asking me?

_“Because you are the only person I know in a long-term relationship who hasn’t screwed it up!”_

There were several seconds of stunned silence on both ends while Victor processed what he said and Christophe tried to believe what he just heard.

“Are you saying you want a _relationship_ with Yuuri? Victor, he lives in Japan. You live in Russia. Your cultures are completely different. Your personalities are completely different. Yuuri is shy and gentle and quiet and you are...well... _you_. Have you thought this through?”

Victor had wandered into the living room and heaved himself onto the couch, Makkachin jumping up to drape herself across his legs like normal. He reached out absentmindedly to pet her and ran through everything Christophe was implying in his head.

“No, not really. But I want to. So I ask you again. What should I do?

“Don’t stress over it so much. We know he doesn’t find you repulsive. He is as sweet as sugar and you clearly like him. Did you know he called me a few weeks ago asking if you were ok?”

“He did?! What did you tell him?”

“I told him he should...oh...OOOH!”

“What, what happened?”

“Nothing, nevermind.”

Victor pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered what the punishment for murder was in Switzerland.

“Chris, if you don’t tell me right now I will re-publish all your early juniors videos on youtube and your sexy image will be ruined forever.”

“Calm down Victor. I only told him that I hadn’t heard from you, just like everyone else. Care to share what you have been up to since you decided the rest of us weren’t worthy of your presence in competition this year?”

Chris was always so full of life. He lived every moment to the fullest, constantly out partying or taking classes to learn a new skill or studying a new language or meeting new people. He didn’t understand the concept of sitting still. If Victor told him the truth Chris would scoff, tease him, and then find a way to send strippers to Victor’s apartment to cheer him up. Victor didn’t want any of it. Better to lie.

“Just laying low while the press was hounding me. You know how it is.”

“Oh yes! Remember that night we put on wigs and dresses and make-up to go clubbing so no one knew it was us? You did make a beautiful brunette you know. We should do that again some time!”

“Our shoulders are a bit wider now Chris, it would be difficult to pull off effeminate”

“Yes, but people are also more accepting, if we go to the right place we could pass as trans. Maybe at Barcelona? For old times sake? If _you're_ not competing I need _something_ to look forward to, otherwise what’s the point of even trying so hard?”

Victor closed his eyes and breathed through his nose to calm himself. Chris had been doing this the last few competitions, using Victor as a personal springboard to drag himself through another season, complaining that if Victor didn’t try hard than why should he. It was irritating and frankly put a lot of pressure on him to do well for his friend, because if he failed it would mean Chris failed as well, and he didn’t want to affect his friend.

“Don’t underestimate your competitors Chris. Altin from Kazakhstan and that one from Canada are biting at your heels. Also Yura is competing this year and I choreographed his programs.”

“Oh yes, a handful of kids under twenty. I’m shaking in my boots Victor. I wish Yuuri would sort his jumps out so he was actual competition. Did you two talk about coaching finally?”

“NO. I am not going to bring it up either. All of his drunken requests are going to stay exactly that.”

Yuuri would have to ask if he wanted something. Victor didn’t think his heart can’t bear offering something of himself and being turned away. It pained him to even imagine such a scenario.

“Well, if you aren’t offering him sex or skating, why exactly should he stick around?”

Victor didn’t answer. Was that all he was good for?

“Anyway, mon amore is here and I have to go. It was lovely talking to you. Don’t disappear for so long again. Upload some pictures so the world knows you are not dead. Let me know how your date goes tonight. Have fun doing laundry. Don’t be too wild.”

The phone cuts off on Chistophes’ amused laughter at his own joke, and Victor is left more confused than he was when he began this conversation. What did he have to offer Yuuri?

 

In his dream Victor is on a hot beach, the sun beating down on his shoulders and causing him to squint his eyes. If he isn’t careful he will have freckles all over his body tomorrow, so he should find some shade. But then he looks out across the white sand to the sparkling blue ocean and there are Makkachin and Yuuri splashing in the waves, running in circles around each other. In the distance he sees Yuuri turn to him and wave, calling him over. The sound of his name in Yuuri’s voice is wonderful and makes him feel full of life. Then unexpectedly Yuuri is standing directly in front of him, in just his small black briefs, hair slicked back and dripping with ocean water. He’s so close that Victor can feel the steam coming off his body as the water is warmed by the sun. Yuuri reaches out and runs a hand through Victor’s bangs, pushing them out of his eyes and tucking them behind his ear. Victor watches, stunned as both arms reach out for him, but instead of a hug Yuuri shakes him, calling his name in increasingly worried tones. Why is he so upset?

 

Victor blinks and he is laying on his couch, Makkachin nearly smothering him with her weight on his chest, and Yuuri’s face is centimeters away. They lock eyes for a second before they both realize how close they are, and the rush to put distance between themselves is probably comical to watch. Victor backs up into the couch, the cushion behind his head tipping over onto his face before he bats it away. Yuuri falls backwards onto his behind, apologizing for intruding and waking him up. Makkachin wags her tail but otherwise doesn’t move off Victor.

Victor was still confused. “What time is it?”

“It’s about two forty five. I am a little early. I tried knocking but there was no answer, and the door was unlocked so I came in.”

He gets to his feet gracefully and walks back to the door where he left his things. A backpack and a brown paper bag.

“I have your soup here, if you are still hungry. Would you like me to heat it up?”

Victor nods just because he doesn’t know what else to do, he’s too busy trying to catch up to the current moment. He was talking to Christophe. Victor pushed Makka off of him and she happily jumped down and followed Yuuri into the kitchen to investigate him. The phone was wedged into the cushions under Victor and he fished it out to find several new texts.

**Ice Kitten**

Tell Katsuki our punishment from Yakov

is we all have to work until 9

So no after hours practice tonight

Also he’s not smooth

Everyone knew where he was rushing off to

Only you like the veggie borsht.

_2:15pm_

 The second text was from Mila. It was a single image she had decided to send straight to him instead of upload to instagram. Attached was a photo of Yuuri sitting at the table at Podvorye, ignoring the antics around him and smiling down at his phone as he types out a message. He was completely oblivious to the fact that Mila was taking photos or that Yura was making throw up faces behind him. Yuuri looked soft and smitten in the photo.

Maybe Victor had a chance after all.

His stomach rumbled reminding him that he had not eaten since ten that morning, and he finally sat up and looked behind him to see Yuuri stirring the soup and humming to himself while one hand rested on Makkachin’s head. He was wearing the same black jeans rolled at the ankle and simple black tee and his thick framed glasses with windblown hair and yet somehow he was still the most beautiful thing Victor had ever seen. There was something about this quiet, relaxed version of Yuuri that put his soul as ease and allowed him to relax as well. When Yuuri looked over at him and grinned something in Victor whispered that it would be ok, he didn’t have to try so hard, he could just be. It was a feeling he wanted to get used to.

They spent the next few hours completing chores, because Yuuri was a strict task master and insisted that the work get finished. The laundry was collected from the bedroom, bathroom, and walk in closet for a total of eight loads of wash and a large pile to go to the dry cleaners. While the first four loads were going Yuuri pulled his laptop out of his backpack and created an outline in google doc’s to organize who Victor needed to respond to and how, from most urgent to least. One app at a time they went through Victor’s phone, stopping often for Victor to share photo’s or stories.

If Victor whined about having to do something he was met with stern eyes and a no-nonsense tone. There was one time though where he wasn’t just reluctant to call someone back, he was genuinely terrified. He didn’t know how to explain to Yuuri everything Yakov meant to him, or how mad the man was, or how much it gutted him to know he had disappointed his mentor for no good reason. He was trying to gather the words but nothing was coming out. Yuuri just looked at him, nodded, and put ‘talk to Yakov’ all the way at the bottom of the ‘in person’ list. No judgement, no pity, just silent acceptance. Victor felt like a great weight lifted off his shoulders in that moment. It was on the list, but he had time. Everything would be ok.

By six pm everything was finished. The laundry was folded and hung up and put away, the four page document was printed out and ready to tape to his office wall, and he was feeling more productive than he had in weeks. The dreaded tasks he thought it would take days to slog through Yuuri had helped him take care of in a matter of hours. Victor still had to do all the work of course, but he had learned a lot about organization and time management from college graduate Yuuri. Maybe next time it wouldn’t be so difficult.

They were sprawled out on opposite ends of the couch, arms aching after folding so many items of clothing.

“So, what now?” Yuuri inquired. “I don’t have to go to the rink, and I would rather be here than sitting in my motel room alone.”

“I’m so glad I could entertain you. Makkachin needs a walk I suppose. I just need to get dressed in clean clothes.”

Yuuri agreed and Victor rushed back to his room to change. He made sure not to overdress, trying to match the casual look his companion pulled off so easily. His jeans and black turtleneck were designer, but he hoped it was good enough. He didn’t know how long they would be out, but it wouldn’t get too cold. Idly he wondered if Yuuri needed a jacket, and if it would be too much to offer one of his own. Just in case he grabbed a light windbreaker to carry with him, and he could offer it in case Yuuri looked uncomfortable. Returning to the living room he found Yuuri looking out the kitchen windows onto the city. He had donned a blue hoodie with yellow image on the back that said DSC and the words Detroit Skating Club at the bottom. Victor tossed his jacket back into the bedroom and pretended it never existed.

“Victor, what are those tent’s in the street down there?”

“Oh! That is the open air market. There is fresh produce and art pieces and sometimes there is music or games. Would you like to go?”

The delighted expression that lit up Yuuri’s face was all Victor would ever need for the rest of his life.

 

If Victor had a spine in his body he would call this a date. They were walking down the booths in a criss cross pattern, handing each other food samples and trading opinions on the various knickknacks and handmade crafts that were for sale. Most of the vendors and shoppers were locals and already knew Victor, but twice he was stopped for an autograph and a selfie. Both times Yuuri stepped to the side and watched fondly as Victor thanked his fans for their kindness, and reminded them to tag him in the photos if they were posted online. Part of Victor itched to drag Yuuri over and point out to these people that he was a famous skater too, but he seemed content to just watch and Victor didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“It’s alright Victor” Yuuri reassured him after the second time. “It happens to me at home, I understand. You are much better at talking to people than I am though. I just stand there and shake their hand awkwardly while they scream at me.”

They were walking slowly toward the end of the market, the last few booths just being handheld foods like popcorn and roasted nuts. Victor was reminded of the failed photo disaster.

“I see. Is that why you didn’t want to take that selfie with me in Sochi last year? You were one of the first people to ever turn down a photo you know. Yura teased me about it the whole night.”

Yuuri blanched next to him. “You didn’t know who I was. You thought I was a fan.”

Now Victor was confused. “What do you mean. Of course I knew who you were. I wanted a photo to remember that we competed together.”

Poor Yuuri looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “I’m so sorry. I was very sad and embarrassed and I just wanted to go back to the hotel and sleep through the next ten years and pretend the whole thing had never happened.”

That sounded eerily familiar. “I didn’t understand for so long long, why you would turn away. Now I know that feeling of just wanting to hide from it all and hope that everyone in the world just forgets you.”

Yuuri is looking down at the ground, his eyes sad and shoulders drooping. Victor wants to reach out and comfort him, but he has never been good at it. He takes Yuuri’s hand in his and squeezes it, wanting to convey to the man a sense of sympathy. His other hand comes up under Yuuri’s chin and tilts his head back to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry you had to feel that way. It’s a terrible feeling.”

Yuuri blushes adorably and looks to the side, unable to meet Victors gaze. Victor wants to say something about how it is necessary to continue skating despite those bad feelings, how it is important to stay motivated, but it seems like a hollow and hypocritical statement coming from him. The words die in his mouth.

Then it is too late because Yuuri’s eyes have gone wide and sparkly and Victor is being pulled by the hand over to one of the booths in the market. Yuuri is literally gaping like a fish and Victor turns to see what has him so excited.

Oh. It was him.

The booth is filled with Victor Nikiforov merchandise, everything from shirts and scarves to bootleg tapes of his lesser aired performances. Yurri slips away from him toward the back of the tent where there are hundreds of posters stacked on a table. He begins looking through them with an intensity Victor hadn’t seen since since the grand prix. Victor wanders around looking at all the items, cringing at the more embarrasing photo’s of him when he was younger and finding a rather charming set of Matryoshka doll’s, each one wearing a different costume of his.

Victor nearly drops his find when Yuuri shouts out in triumph.

“They have it! They actually have it! I didn’t think I would ever see this again.”

When Victor comes up behind him Yuuri is holding (stroking? lovingly caressing?) a poster of him at sixteen years old from his last Junior World Championships. He was wearing a black mesh and velvet costume scattered with white diamonds and fitted with a half skirt that teased the audience with flashes of red. His hair was still long and the photographer managed to capture Victor mid spin, just as his ponytail swirled around him. His eyes were only half open while his face looked up and his arms elegantly floated above him. It was quite a beautiful photo.

“How much for this poster?” Yuuri spun around excitedly, supposedly to ask the owner of the booth. Instead he was somehow surprised to find Victor there. Victor watched as he turned several shades of red and his eyes darted from his face, to the poster, and then out to the street like he was considering running away. As Yuuri’s distress grew Victor only found himself more amused.

He had known, objectively, that Yuuri was a fan. He could tell from watching him skate. It had been much more obvious in the videos he had managed to dig up from old juniors competitions in Japan, where some of the moves Yuuri had used were nearly copied from Victor’s programs. These days it could only be found in the arc of his arm during a sit spin, or the tilt of his neck in a camel. Small movements that Victor could only catch because he had spent hundreds of hours perfecting them himself, and would recognize them anywhere. It was commendable that a skater that admired him had been so dedicated and talented he became a professional.

Seeing that Yuuri was his fan up close like this was entirely different. It made him feel flustered and confident and handsome and old all at the same time. Yuuri would have been twelve when that poster was released. The thought was mildly uncomfortable. But mostly he was truly flattered.

“Yuuri, are you ok? Don’t forget to breathe.”

He nodded and took a few breathes in and out.

“Sorry, that was just a strange moment. My sister destroyed this poster when I was thirteen. She was mad because she had to miss a date to babysit me so she came into my room and tore it off the wall and ripped it up. It was the first poster I had of you, from the first program I ever saw you perform. I have never seen it again since we do not get any Russian publications in my town. Then I turned around and you were here. I’m in Russia and I’m out shopping with you and it’s all a bit surreal for me.”

Victor idly wondered if dry humping him had been a bit surreal as well but wouldn’t dare ask.

“It’s a good poster. Would you like to get it?”

Yuuri nodded and clutched it to his chest gently, eyes wide and smile bright. The vendor finally appeared wiping his hand on his apron since he also ran the crepe booth next door. He insisted Victor take the two items for free, and in return Victor signed a handful of things so the man can charge a higher price for them. Yuuri’s poster was also signed, and he cradled the sturdy shipping tube like it is the most precious cargo in the world as they walk home.

 

It was nearly 8:30 when they reached the loft again, but the sky was still lit with a gentle periwinkle glow. Victor opened the large windows in the kitchen to let the night air in while Yuuri tried to fit his poster into his backpack. Victor felt like celebrating, so he pulled out his prized 2007 Nosotros from the back of the pantry and put it out to air.

Yuuri was at the window again, looking out over the city.

“I love how it is light here for so many hours. It’s like a day doesn’t have to end if you don’t want it to.”

“True, but the winters are the opposite, dark and so cold you cannot be out long before you suffer. Luckily you managed to find the one time of year it isn’t perpetually raining. I am sure it will start up again in the next few weeks, so I hope you brought an umbrella with you.”

Yuuri turned and looked at him, confusion blooming on his face. What was so difficult to understand about rain. It rained in Japan surely.

“Yuuri, would you have a glass of wine to celebrate with me?”

“Celebrate what?”

“Our accomplishments! I have clean clothes, you have a new poster. It was a good day!”

“I try not to drink too much Victor.”

“Yes, but this is a dessert wine, it’s from Argentina and tastes like black raspberries and chocolate cake. Just try some.”

“I don’t know…”

Victor thought about how hard he wanted to push this. He wasn’t trying to get Yuuri drunk, he just wanted to share a moment with him. A perfect end to a perfect day. He stared at the bottle trying to puzzle his way through the situation. Then it came to him.

“Yuuri, do you know what nosotros means in Spanish?”

He shook his head.

“It means ‘we’. This wine is meant to be shared between two people. So let’s drink to we, to us. To our new friendship. Please.”

Finally Yuuri dropped the tense set of his shoulders and nodded.

Victor quickly set out two glasses and poured them each a half glass only, so Yuuri wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Technically it should sit out for a few hours for the full effect, but this was fine.

Their glasses clinked gently and they both giggled a bit at the sound, holding each other’s gaze over the rim as they sipped. Victor had the pleasure of watching Yuuri discover that he LOVED Nosotros, and wondered what other luxuries he could introduce him to. Had he tried a steak so tender that it melts in your mouth as you chew it? Had he felt the smooth slide of silk over his shoulders while he chats casually at a party, letting him know he is handsome and desired? Or had he only ever worn cotton and spandex? It was a crime if so.

Maybe this weekend Victor could take him to the ballet. There was always something playing, he would look it up. Seeing the chandeliers in the lobby bounce prisms off Yuuri’s skin would be more entertaining than the show itself. Or maybe he would rather see one of the palaces nearby. There was no shortage of things to do in St. Petersburg, and Victor would be happy to be his tour guide and translator throughout the city.

They stayed leaned over the kitchen counter quietly sipping their wine and smiling stupidly at each other while Victor thought of activities for them to do together. When Yuuri’s phone pinged it startled them both, since it so rarely happened. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and the smile disappeared from his face.   

“What’s wrong Yuuri?” Whatever it was, Victor would find a way to fix it.

“Nothing is wrong. It’s just the itinerary and check in for my flight. The always send it twelve hours before. I guess I should go so I get enough sleep”.

Everything in Victor’s body turned to ice. His ears rang. His mouth tasted funny. Maybe he misheard.

“You’re leaving?”

“I should, it takes time to get back to my hotel and I have to be up very early tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving Russia? So soon? Why?”

Yuuri looked sad for just a second before his face returned to a neutral expression. Victor didn’t notice, he was too busy trying to comprehend the idea that Yuuri wouldn’t be here tomorrow, or the day after that, or maybe ever again. Victor had been a fool.

“I have to Victor. I could only stay a week. The JSF...Minako needs me back so we can work on my routines, she would murder me if I stayed longer. There was still a lot I wanted to do here but... Yuri never did get around to showing me how he does his salchow so perfectly.”

Unexpectedly he tints pink. “I was also hoping to skate with you, but I guess that won’t be happening either.”

_Well, if you aren’t offering him sex or skating, why exactly should he stick around?_

Score one for Christophe Giacometti

“No, I guess not. Goodnight. Have a safe flight.” Victor knew his words were curt and rude, but he couldn’t stop them from coming out of his mouth. His feet carried him to the front door and he opened it to show Yuuri out. He knew that Yuuri would still have to call a cab and wait for it, but Victor couldn’t stand to have him here one second longer if he didn’t want to be here. Victor was clearly just a distraction while Yuuri had been bored, and hoping to see Victor skate. All those hint’s about going to the rink now made sense. He felt used and dirty and angry. He shoved all those feelings down and allowed his body to go numb as he watched Yuuri say goodbye to Makkachin and grab his backpack, the stupid poster sticking out to taunt him. That was the only part of Victor he seemed to want to keep with him.

“Goodbye Victor, it was nice spending time with you. Can I call you sometimes?”

The words stuck arrows through various parts of Victor’s chest. He might still gets bits of Yuuri over the phone occasionally, when Yuuri felt like it. He wanted to scream at Yuuri to just leave him alone, to let him suffer in peace, but he could hear his press team telling him that it was important to keep up relations with other skaters so he just nodded and hummed a strangles ‘sure’ instead. It wouldn’t matter, Yuuri wouldn’t call anyway. He hadn’t before.

Yuuri stood in front of him a few seconds more, rocking forward on his heels and lifting his arms slightly and Victor held his breath and stared at a speck of dirt on his wall. The hug never came. Instead Yuuri mumbled a small goodnight and walked quickly down the hallway, turning to wave at him one more time before he entered the elevator.

Victor slammed his door shut and began to frantically search for his phone. He needed to tell someone. He needed to hear that the world wasn’t going to end, that he would be ok.

yuuri is going home to japan tomorrow

what do I do

i messed up somehow

help

_9:06pm_

**Chris G.**

Do you still have that Shibari kit I sent you?

Tie him to a chair.

Keep him in Russia.

_9:07pm_

cant.

already gone

i lost him

im an idiot

he didnt want me

not really

_9:12pm_

I’m sorry

Sleep it off

It will hurt less in the morning

_9:16pm_

Victor stomped into the kitchen, slamming the cork back into the wine and shoving it into the pantry. He finished off his glass of wine and Yuuri’s, then pulled the Ketel One out of his fridge and poured himself a straight shot. The vodka was so smooth he didn’t even notice it, so he poured a second and third in quick succession. Then he went to bed, turning off the lights and hiding under his blankets with his phone and his bottle, trying to figure out how to survive the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize now that it took me an entire month to finish this. I wrote a little each day so I felt productive and motivated and had no idea how long it was taking. This is my first real long chaptered fic, so I am still figuring things out. 
> 
> For anyone keeping score I am now halfway through the plot of what I originally thought this fic would be. I said six chapters, and we should have been slightly past here at chapter three. So new estimate is maybe 8-9 chapters. This chapter btw is one third of the entire fic so far. It alone is over 10k worlds. Whoops.
> 
> Speaking of, I am starting to hate the title Victor on Ice. Is anyone particularly attached to it? Any better ideas? Would you cry if it changed one day?
> 
> I would love to give you a timeline, but writing this is pretty emotionally draining for me because its so sad sometimes. 
> 
> Sorry about the horrible formatting for the texting. I tried a million different things and this looked the least horrible. I don't like it either. 
> 
> I do ask questions and talk about plot on tumblr, so if you want to help me not have to stress about this all myself feel free to visit me and ask questions and get mad and fill the loneliness on my dash. https://artdefines06.tumblr.com/
> 
> Here are the things from the chapter  
> https://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g298507-d887389-Reviews-Podvorye-St_Petersburg_Northwestern_District.html
> 
> http://www.cellartracker.com/wine.asp?iWine=1004776
> 
> https://www.ketelone.com/
> 
> I am tempted to put the soulmates tag back on just because Kubo confirmed that they are such. Every fic should have the soulmates tag lol. I won't though. 
> 
> There is always a lot I want to say here when I am writing, but I forget by the time I actually get here. Sorry. 
> 
> Oh! If you ever want to see another character's pov or want a oneshot of any bit or headcannon let me know and I will write it! Writing little bits and pieces is fun and usually only takes me a day or two, and can often make me write the regular chapter faster as well because it makes me feel like I know how to write again. I have stopped trying to let you know what absolutely everyone is thinking all the time because I can't possibly fit it all, so I am mostly going to center on Victor. But if you must know what someone else thinks tell me, and I will be happy to gift it to you! (Or you could totally write it yourself that would be super awesome as well!)
> 
> See you next chapter!


	7. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor becomes good friends with a bottle of Vodka, is cursed, and is extremely lucky.
> 
> *added something I forgot to the notes and minor fixes.

_Siiiiiiic_ **_mea_ ** _vita est_ **_teeeeeem_ ** _po_ **_ra-_** _ria_ ** _Cupit_ ** _artenter_ **_caei_ ** _ta_ **_tem_ ** _ae_ **_ter_ ** _nam_

The screams of angels were trying to kill him, piercing his brain and drilling holes through his skull. Opening his eyes revealed an otherworldly bright light directly in front of him, beckoning him closer.  Victor's only thought was that Yuuri leaving must have killed him and he had ascended to heaven. This was evidenced by the pain all over his body.

Slowly as he surfaced toward wakefulness he realized his body hurt because he was lying curled up with his arm tucked under his side and Makkachin on his leg, which was twisted sideways. There was the light odor of expensive Vodka and the heavy stench of sweat. The sweat was from the many blankets he had piled on top of him, blocking out the never ending sun. The bright light and music was actually his cell phone ringing.

 _Et_ **_denique_ ** _aperiens fores oc-_ ** _cultas_** _,_ _no_ **_bis_** _,_ **_grandis_ ** _et clara_ **_nos_ ** _que cu_ **_ra_ ** _bit_

The angels were screaming at him louder, trying to get his attention. They needed him to know that they were important; that they were the purest form of devotion, asking nothing in return. Unlike Victor who had been selfish and wanted Yuuri to stay with him and always be sweet and beautiful and make him happy. Yes, the angels were letting him know he had failed. That was why he had set Agape as Yuuri’s ringtone last night. Just in case Yuuri ever did call him, Victor would be reminded of his failure to love Yuuri selflessly.

 _Mea_ ** _vita_** _amabit, car_ ** _itatis_** **_pa_** _cem._ _Hanc fe_ ** _li_** _ci_ ** _ta_** _t_ ** _em_** _aeter_ ** _nam_** _esse_ ** _o0000000ro_**

Like a bolt of lightning it all clicked together and Victor snatched the phone up and accepted the call. Yuuri’s voice, deeper and grumbly over the phone, was pouring out of the speaker and through Victor's body. It relaxed him and excited him all at once. He wasn’t paying attention to the individual words, too caught up in the idea that it was really Yuuri on the other end of the phone, talking to him and no one else. So naturally when Yuuri asked “Is that alright?”, Victor agreed. Anything Yuuri wanted he could have. As long as he kept calling so Victor could hear his voice.

The line went dead and Victor lay back down, looking at his lock screen which was the picture to accompany the ringtone. Yuuri was younger, maybe twenty. He had on a shirt of the lightest blue possible with white banding, and loose wavy bell sleeves. He was in an arabesque floating across the ice with with arms thrown out to the side and a look of utter peace and contentment on his face. This was the image that months ago had inspired the routine Yura was now performing, his Agape.

He stared at Yuuri’s face and unmatched arabesque until he succumbed to sleep again.

 

One hour later Yuuri was standing in front of Victor’s door trying to muster up the courage to knock. True, he had permission to come, and Victor hadn’t _sounded_ upset, but that didn’t make him any less anxious. Yuuri could only hope that the strange coldness from last night had been a reaction to the surprise, and that Victor was not actually upset with him. Victor had not know how long Yuuri was staying, and that was Yuuri’s fault. The way Victor’s eyes had gone blank and his body had stiffened up haunted Yuuri and he hoped the next few hours were not going to be extremely uncomfortable. If he had to he would just sit on the couch and play on his laptop and try to go unnoticed, or maybe take Makkachin on a series of very long walks if Victor was still mad at him. He just didn’t want to be stuck at the airport all day. Stupid Aeroflot and their stupid flight delays for no reason. He could have been on his way home in half an hour instead of standing in a cold hallway preparing to bother someone that was less than pleased with him.

Yuuri raised his hand and knocked lightly at the door. He waited as he counted to thirty. There was no sound from inside. Mentally he apologized to everyone sleeping in the building and knocked harder. Nothing. There was an inconspicuous white button next to the door and he pushed it, producing a muted buzzing sound that he hoped was louder inside. He supposed he could just camp out in the hallway until Victor appeared. It was possible he was walking Makkachin, but Yuuri had said he would arrive at eight. He held his ear to the door, hoping to reveal a clue about the happenings inside, and pressed the white button again.  The barking that followed startled Yuuri to back away from the door. There was a groan, followed by thumping sounds. Good dog. Let Victor know he had a visitor. He must have fallen asleep again; Yuuri had called rather early.

The groans from inside were growing louder and closer. The door creaked open and Victor stood in the doorway looking like death warmed over. His skin was sickly pale but the bags under his eyes were dark purple. His normally perfectly coiffed hair was sticking up in odd directions like it was trying to escape his head. The same clothes he had been wearing yesterday were stretched and skewed and hanging loosely on his body.  

Worst of all was the empty look in his eyes; like there was no life, no happiness to be found in the world. This was worse than the photos or the interviews. Worse than when Yuuri had first arrived. This was the clear sign Yuuri had been looking for all along.

“Oh, Victor.” he whispered. At the sound of his voice Victor’s eyes went wide and finally cleared to see him standing there.

“Yuuri?!”

Then Yuuri found long arms wrapped around him and Victor’s weight threw him off balance, causing him to stumble back into the hallway until they both hit the wall behind them. Victor had his face buried into Yuuri’s neck and was mumbling “you’re here” and ‘I’m sorry” and other words in other languages that Yuuri couldn’t decipher. Yuuri could faintly smell traces of alcohol on his skin and concluded that he was drunk.

Clearly Victor was a mess. To spare them both embarrassment Yuuri held onto Victor and helped him stumble back inside. He tried to place Victor on the couch but the man insisted on staying attached to him even though he had to bend over to do so. Aside from the substantial weight difference this wasn’t so much different from hauling Minako around after one of her celebrations. He shifted Victor to his side and went back to the door to grab his bags and pull them inside, then closed the door softly so there could be no noise complaints. Makkachin circled their feet, making sure Yuuri took good care of her precious owner. Then Yuuri dragged Victor to his room, toeing the door open and sighing at the messy state of the bed which they had just changed the sheets on yesterday. Already the covers were in piles and the corners were untucked.

Victor lurched and Yuuri fumbled his hold on the inebriated skater, causing Victor to bash his shoulder against the doorframe quite heavily. Yuuri apologized profusely, and Victor grabbed on tighter and whispered almost reverently that he forgave him; that he would always forgive Yuuri, no matter what. Yuuri rolled his eyes at the drunken ramblings, relieved that Victor was not injured.

As he tried to sort out the sheets he found a Vodka bottle about half full and Victor’s phone which was dead. Those were placed on the nightstand. With one arm he pulled the blankets up, since the sheets were still damp from sweat and spills. Yuuri tried to lay Victor down on top of the sheets, only to be pulled down with the man who continued to cling to him, crying out for him to stay. Yuuri’s father also demanded that everyone stay and party with him when drinking, pulling them back into the tv room when they tried to go home for the night. Victor seemed to have a similar need to have people nearby while drunk.  

Yuuri could only roll his eyes and imagine what Phichit would have to say about this situation. If his roommate had ridiculously called yesterday’s disaster a date, then what would he call rolling around in Victor’s bed with the champion skater’s arms clasped around his waist, one arm under under him and digging into his hip while the other snaked it’s way up his back?

On second thought, he didn’t want to think too deeply about what anyone would have to say about this situation.

Victor’s face had moved from Yuuri’s neck to his chest in their fall. Luckily their arms were long so there was still some distance between their bodies. Carefully Yuuri reached behind himself to pry Victor’s arm off his sweatshirt but said arm was heavier than it seemed and tangled into his hood, possibly even grabbing onto it. Each small movement he made only seemed to inch him closer to Victor, and Yuuri was accidently becoming dangerously well-acquainted with his lifelong idol. Maybe it was better to just stop struggling.

Victor had ceased mumbling, but his breathing still hitched occasionally so Yuuri simply waited for Victor to either fall asleep or realize what was happening and release him. Eventually the older man’s muscles began to relax and his breathing evened out and softened. Yuuri tried an experimental tug on the rogue arm but it was to no avail. Even in sleep Victor was holding on like a steel trap. Instead Yuuri tried lightly pushing Victor’s shoulder to roll him onto his back, which helped a bit. There wasn’t much rolling but Victor’s head did rotate away from Yuuri’s chest.

Victor seemed to have a habit of sleeping on his side which meant his bangs covered his features, so for the second time in two days Yuuri gather the soft strands in his fingers and tucked them behind Victor’s ear, revealing a face he had thought he knew well. He had looked at this face for eleven years, watched it thin out and sharpen with maturity. This face had lined his walls and starred in his dreams. Now that he had spent so much time near the man he thought he had seen Victor’s face from every angle and in every lighting.

He had been wrong.

The face he was looking at right now was lined with tear tracks. There was something disturbing Victor even in sleep, causing his brow to twitch inwards and his lips to curl down. It was fascinating. Yuuri found himself just studying Victor, since the man was sleeping and he could do so without obvious consequence. With only inches between them Yuuri could see both his perfection and his flaws at once. His pores truly were microscopic, but there was a tiny red spot high on his cheekbone under his left eye that could become a blemish. His teeth weren’t as white as Yuuri had thought they were, and now he knew it was due to the thick dark italian coffee he drank several times a day. Finding out all these little things that the fans and interviewers had never thought to ask delighted Yuuri.

The only wish Yuuri had was that Victor would open his eyes. He would kill to see Victor’s eyes this close, to count the colors in them

At that thought Yuuri felt guilty. This wasn’t just some life-size interactive Victor Nikiforov Doll™ that was curled up next to him, sleeping off a hangover. The real Victor was everything that the posters had promised, and at the same time glaringly human. He was messy and silly and impulsive and _was_ actually capable of having a bad hair day, despite previous evidence that suggested otherwise. Victor had made Yuuri comfortable in his home, never once judging him for doing something strange or making him feel like a lesser person or skater.

Yuuri even felt unusually comfortable and relaxed being near to Victor like this. Sometimes physical contact from strangers made him feel like the person was pushing themselves on him, forcing their way into his life and his problems. Other times he felt like he was overstepping his bounds by initiating, like last night when he was saying goodbye to Victor. Even with his family members hugs were scarce. When he arrived home after five years he stiffly muttered his hello’s from a distance, and no one bothered to bridge the gap. Everyone respected the bubble he had built around himself. He realized now that he missed Phichit’s random hugs when his friend was happy, or even Celestino’s arm flung around his shoulder in comfort at the kiss and cry. Minako was the only one at home who ever touched him, and that was either to correct his posture or physically drag him somewhere he likely did not want to go.

So Yuuri would stay here, for just a few more seconds, soaking in the feeling of warm sun coming in through the windows behind him and clinging, troubled, sleeping Russian in front of him. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the sensation. He would get up, take the dog for a walk, re-check his flight times, and update Minako in a minute. Just another minute.

 

In what was beginning to feel like a habit, Victor woke feeling disoriented. Only this time he couldn’t be truly sure he was awake. In no reality he knew of was it possible for him to be lying on his bed with Yuuri in his arms. It was nearly a exact re-creation of the scene he had imagined just the other day, only there were small changes that made this infinitely better. Yuuri’s right arm, which was trapped between their bodies and the bed, was reached out toward Victor, and his hand was resting over Victor’s heart. Yuuri’s left arm was tucked up against Yuuri’s own chest, almost as if he were feeling both their hearts beating at the same time. Yuuri’s glasses were at an odd angle pushed against the pillow, his hair was still damp from a shower and curling slightly at the edges, and he was releasing minty puffs of warm breath in Victor’s direction. Victor found that his own arms were exactly here he had pictured they would be, folded around Yuuri’s waist. Truly his imagination was using the details it had learned about Yuuri in the last few days to provide him with some heart-breakingly realistic dream material.

Slowly the entire dream came to him; Yuuri showing up at his doorstep once again, this time apologizing for hurting Victor and agreeing to stay. It didn’t all fit together though; there were scenes missing. It felt disjointed and contrived.

All at once his arm prickled with pins and needles and his head began to throb. He swallowed against the pain and found that his mouth tasted foul and sour. It was then that his eye caught the bottle of vodka on the nightstand behind Yuuri’s head. Right as Victor was puzzling over why the bottle would be in his dream and how his pain was so realistic, the familiar clicking sound of long nails on concrete invaded the quiet sanctuary of the bedroom. Makkachin’s furry face popped up behind Yuuri and she wagged her tail, letting her owner know she was awake and he was awake and she was happy to see him and it was time for a walk. When he didn’t respond he felt the hand that rested at the small of Yuuri’s back being licked and nuzzled, a sure sign that she needed to go out.

Yuuri made an annoyed face at the intrusion and tucked himself in closer to Victor, turning his face into the pillow and protesting with a small hum. If Victor hadn’t already felt like death he was sure that small action would have sent him to his grave.

Why was Makkachin ruining his dream like this? He didn’t want to leave this scene yet. It was too idyllic, even with the massive headache that was forming at the base of his skull and his crushed arm. If that was the trade-off he would take it.

Makkachin gave up on licking his hand and popped her head up behind Yuuri’s back again. Victor knew what was coming next. When he didn’t give her the attention she needed she would give him a sharp bark as a reprimand. He tried to lift his head to shush her so she wouldn’t wake Yuuri but it was no use. He was immediately assaulted by the full force of his headache and sent spiralling dizzy back down to the pillow, his eyes closing with nausea. Makkachin barked twice, piercing staccato sounds and Yuuri sat up quickly in response, nearly falling off the edge of the bed in his haste. While he righted his glasses and straightened his clothes Makkachin paced back and forth by his side and tried to lick at his hands as they moved around. The second Yuuri stood she jumped onto the bed to steal his warm spot by her owner and check that he was ok. All Victor could do was groan as he was licked and nosed and nipped in a flurry of activity. Yuuri chuckled (because he was cruel) and called her down off the bed. The two of them left the bedroom and Victor could hear the sounds of the leash and collar jingling. That was followed by cabinets opening and closing and glass clinking. Yuuri’s footsteps returned to the bedroom and quietly asked Victor if he had aspirin in the bathroom. Victor nodded and Yuuri disappeared again. When he returned he placed the pills and a glass of water on the night stand, and let Victor know that he was taking the dog on a walk and he would be back soon. Victor added another weak nod and listened to them leave. Only when the door closed and all was silent did he dare to open his eyes again.

This wasn’t a dream.

He brought his left arm up to inspect it, watched it change color as blood rushed back to it. There were indents left by Yuuri’s sweatshirt that ran in slanted lines on the inside of his forearm.

This definitely wasn’t a dream.

What was it then?

Why was Yuuri here? What was happening? He didn’t trust his version of events, not after what looked to be half a bottle of vodka.

Oh no.

Had he called Yuuri? Begged him to come back? He searched for his phone under the pillows but found nothing. Struggling to sit back up was a bad idea but he did it anyway, swallowing back his nausea and breathing through the initial pain. He found his phone was right next to the pills and the water, but the vodka had vanished. Likely returned to the kitchen by Yuuri. Dutifully he took the aspirin and checked his phone, only to find it dead. The charger felt like it was miles away. Standing was a chore, but he managed. With the phone plugged in and charging he made his way to the shower to clean off his night.

As he showered bits and pieces of the evening continued to drift back to him. Talking to Christophe late into the night until everything that could be said had been repeated twice. He had felt marginally better after dumping all his anguish on his friend, who had been uncharacteristically quiet and supportive. If he remembered correctly that call ended around midnight, because Chris had to wake up early in the morning.

That was when he probably _should_ have called it a night, after the first four shots and a long talk.

Victor hadn’t been able to sleep though, so he began to watch Yuuri’s video’s again, in chronological order, ending with his spectacular wipe out at Japanese Nationals. He had the brilliant idea to turn the last few videos into a drinking game - take a shot every time Yuuri flubs a jump. Take a sip every time there was the perfect missed opportunity for better choreography. Calculate what his score could have been if he hadn’t tanked. Sink lower into the bed every time you read an article that compared your astounding success to his terrible failure. Marvel at how he can still look you in the eye after reading those articles.

Wonder if becoming his coach would have changed anything. Feel guilty. Remember that everyone agrees you would be a terrible coach. Drink again.

Repeat.

No wonder everything was fuzzy. Half a bottle is about ten shots, more than anyone should have in one sitting and with no dinner. The last thing he remembered was passing three am and celebrating with a drink because he was halfway through the endless night. Not his best moment.

As he washed his hair (the short five minute version of washing his hair not the long three part treatment he used to do when he was performing, because who cares anymore) he realized his shoulder was quite sore, and there was a large bruise developing on it. Then he remembered hitting the door, and Yuuri apologizing for hurting him, and Victor taking it to mean something entirely different. He remembered the clinging and the sobbing and absolute lack of chill he had. He leaned his head against the cold tile and wondered what he had to do to go back in time and erase the last twelve hours.

It would have been fine if he had woken up alone and been allowed to suffer the day in silence and not leave the bed for at least the rest of the week. But no. Yuuri was here to torture him a third day in a row with his shy smiles and breathless laugh and bangs that sometimes got in his eyes under his glasses and had to be swept to the side with a toss of his head.

Yuuri was not where he should have been, in Japan a million miles away and slowly forgetting him. NO, he had been curled up in Victor’s bed and for the life of him Victor wasn’t sure of how he got there or what that level of comfort implied, and that meant the man had been sent to drive him mad.

Maybe Yuuri was actually a reincarnation of Morena, Slavic goddess of winter and death, sent to punish him for quitting skating. His sentence for abandoning his coach and talent and team was to have this perfect being that was everything Victor wanted in one package dangled in front of him over and over, then torn away every-time he got close.

It was a fitting punishment actually. After all, he had been on top of the world for so long.

The higher one is, the further one falls.

Victor refilled his glass of water in the sink and drank it down, then slowly got dressed and prepared to face Yuuri again. He reviewed any necessary apologies he might have to make, prepared himself to say goodbye politely instead of behaving like a child, and reminded himself that Yuuri was not for him.

 

Yuuri made sure to offer Victor a large smile and a sunny hello when he emerged from the back rooms. All he received in return was distrustful eyes and a frown. Great. This was going to be exactly as uncomfortable as he thought it would be. Best to just get the weirdest bit’s over with so they could move on.  

“I am sorry for falling asleep in your bed. I did not mean to, it was just early and I was very tired. You are being so kind allowing me to stay here because my flight was delayed. I should not have taken advantage of that kindness, no matter how accidental. Please forgive me.”

Victor’s eyes were unfocused, searching the floor for answers that were not there. After a long moment he looked up at Yuuri, blinked a few times, and mumbled. “Sure”

Of the many responses Yuuri was prepared for, ‘sure’ was not expected.

He stared at Victor, waiting for further words, but Victor just continued to look down at the pattern in the cracks of the concrete. Maybe it was best to move on...

“Is the aspirin helping your headache? I made Ochazuke, which is, um, green tea over rice. Very good for hangovers. The tea is my favorite machta from home. I brought some with me just in case. It will settle your stomach at least. Would you like some? Please, come sit down I will prepare it.”

Victor didn’t respond in the negative or affirmative, but he did drift to the table and sit, folding his hands in his lap. Yuuri could feel Victor’s eyes watching him as he moved around the kitchen finding bowls, measuring out spoonfuls of the fluffy rice, and pouring the tea over it. He didn’t bother with any other toppings partly because he didn’t know what Victor could handle right now, and partly because he didn’t want to spend the time rooting through the fridge and preparing ingredients. He wished he had some seaweed or fresh ginger, but this would have to do.

He placed a bowl in front of Victor and one for himself and whispered a quick _“_ _Itadakimasu”_ before he began to eat, savoring the warmth and comfort of the meal. Yuuri had fallen out of practice saying the prayer while in America, but being home and hearing it constantly re-taught him the habit. In addition it seemed he would need the strength from wherever he could find it to get through this day without further embarrassing himself.

They ate together in silence. Not the companionable sort of silence they had found together before but a tense silence borne of uneasiness. Yuuri wasn’t sure what to say and therefore couldn’t bring himself to say anything, and Victor simply didn’t exist on this plane. It was as though he were somewhere else, having left his body here in the living room while his mind traveled. Victor picked at his meal, taking small sips when he seemed to remember he was at the table, but otherwise stirring patterns into the rice and staring despondently into the bowl. There was an unmistakable air of weariness and sorrow about him, as though the drinking and subsequent hangover had stripped him of the last of his defenses.

Yuuri felt like all the progress he had made in getting Victor to smile the last few days had been reset. This was the hollow eyed man he had introduced himself to that first day. This was Victor when he thought no one would be watching.

Eventually Yuuri finished his meal and was unsure how to proceed. He didn’t want to leave Victor alone, but he didn’t want to stay if he was in the way. Part of him wanted to shake Victor until some light snapped back into his eyes, but he knew that wasn’t how it worked. There wasn’t much he could do today. He would just have to wait until he got home, then he could ask Minako for advice. When Yuuri stood up to clean his bowl in the sink Victor stood up as well.

“Thank you for the breakfast. It was wonderful. I’m just going to check my phone in the bedroom. I should be out in a minute. Sorry.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure what Victor was apologizing for. As Victor walked into the bedroom and shut the door part way behind him, Yuuri let out a deep breath. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how to say them. He and Phichit had spent the last few nights pouring over all the information on clinical depression they could find online and in their school’s Psychology textbook, but they were unsure how to apply the knowledge they had gained. Having had depression was different than helping someone with depression. All the warning signs and advice threads were swimming around in Yuuri’s head and he couldn’t seem to pin down any one thought to voice aloud.

Then again, maybe he was just a coward. He had been so set on coming here to save Victor, and now that he was here he had no idea how to help him.

Instead Yuuri got out his laptop and checked his e-mails. Maybe he could convince Victor to go outside again today since that seemed to help before. While he waited for Victor to join him he pulled up his draft of the information he had collected about Russia to send to Morooka. He re-read the eight pages, making small grammar changes and adding details. He thought he could talk about the restaurant he went to yesterday as well, so he began to describe that experience. He got lost in the pleasure of writing and re-counting the story, knowing it would make readers laugh if the paper decided to use it. In addition he described the open air market, all the stalls and foods and crafts he saw, although he didn’t say that he went with Victor. He had made sure to leave Victor’s name out of everything, not wanting to intrude on the man’s privacy. When he surfaced from his work he was very thirsty and his back was sore from being hunched over his laptop at the tiny table.

Standing up and stretching he checked the time. It was nearly noon. Victor had been in the bedroom for two hours. Yuuri hadn’t noticed because he had planned on working until Victor came out to join him. Since Victor never came Yuuri just kept writing. Hadn’t Victor said he would only be a minute? As he drank a glass of water he contemplated his choices. He could just leave Victor be. Maybe he had fallen asleep again? A peek around the corner showed him that Victor’s door was cracked open, so it couldn’t hurt to check on him. Maybe he needed more water.

Yuuri slowly eased the door open and at first could not find Victor. The bed was a mess of blankets and pillows but the Russian skater was nowhere to be found. Then one of the blankets moved slightly. A tiny rectangle of blue light shone through the blue cover.

Yuuri’s chest tightened and a wave of concern washed over him. He had a flashback of laying in his own bed in Detroit, buried under a mountain of blankets flicking through pictures of Vicchan and articles about his failure; back and forth and back and forth in an endless loop. He knew it was bad and it hurt but he couldn’t help it, he was drawn to the negative. The only thing that broke the cycle was Phichit engaging him in conversation and forcing him to stop. This, at least, he could do.

“Victor?”

At the sound of his name the small movements under the blanket stopped.

“Victor, were you going to come join me in the living room?”

A muffled voice responded.

“Yes! One second, just checking something. I’ll be right out.”

Yuuri backed away from the door, closing it behind him. He listened for movement but there was none. It seemed he would be waiting a little longer.

He sat down on the couch and pulled out his phone. He didn’t want to keep bothering Phichit about this, but didn’t know what else to do.

**Me**

I’ve been at Victor’s all morning and he’s bad today

worse than the rest of the week.

I really think he is depressed.

I will hate myself If I leave without doing anything.

What should I do?

_11:59am_

It was around four pm in Thailand right now, so he might not hear from Phichit, but he felt better after just typing the words and admitting his fears. It took another fifteen minutes before he heard the blankets rustle in the bedroom and the door open. Victor came out looking slightly less pale and sickly than he did that morning. His movements were still lethargic but his eyes were focusing and aware.

“Did you want some lunch Victor? We can order in if you don’t feel up to going out. If you like we could go on a walk with Makkachin and pick something up on our way back. Or we can just cook here, I’m sure you still have plenty of food.”

At the sound of her name and the magical word walk Makkachin entered the living room and jumped up onto the couch with Yuuri. Victor watched her for a second, but the soft smile he usually had when looking at his dog was absent. After a moment he waved Yuuri off.

“I am not going to eat lunch. I am still full from breakfast”

“Victor, you didn’t eat breakfast…”

“Yes I did”

“You had about three spoonfuls of tea. That isn’t enough. Your body needs fuel. You know this.”

“Well I’m not hungry. I will eat later. Don’t worry about me I will be fine. What time is your flight out?”

Yuuri didn’t like the sudden change in subject, but didn’t push. “My flight is at four, so I should leave around two. It’s noon right now.”

Victor looked surprised at that. “Wow. I didn’t realize how long I was in there. I am sorry. I get so interested in instagram sometimes my whole day slips by without me knowing it. Luckily I don’t have much to do.”

Yuuri hummed noncommittally. He remembered that feeling of discovering it was suddenly night and having no idea what you did all day. Just another sign to tick off the list.

“Well, I need to eat, so will you go with us and show me somewhere good?”

Victor hesitated. The last few times he had been so excited to go out but now he looked like the effort was just too much.

“Would you mind taking her by yourself. I just, uh, I’m going to….stay here.”

Victor’s eyes flicked back to his bedroom door like he couldn’t wait to go back into his blanket cave.

“If you pull up the map on your phone I can show you a good place for fish and salad. Light food but very flavorful. You will enjoy it. I’ll be here. Don’t worry about me.”

Yuuri sighed in frustration but pulled out his phone to comply. It was then that it buzzed in his hand. A single line from Phichit.

**Phichit**

Just talk to him

_12:17 pm_

Yuuri nodded to himself. Phichit was right. He had to stop guessing and doubting and ask. Maybe Victor was well aware of what was wrong. Maybe that was even why he stopped skating. Yuuri wouldn’t know unless he asked. Gently he nudged Makkachin off the couch, she would have to wait for her walk.

 

Victor was already contemplating his return to the bedroom. He would wait until Yuuri left of course, and this time he would pay more attention to the time. When Yuuri got back he would sit with him while he ate. He could do that. When Yuuri left for the airport Victor could take a nap. That sounded nice. He wasn’t feeling hungover anymore but he was still tired and a bit restless, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Looking at the photo’s of everyone preparing for this season of skating and sharing dinner with their friends and family made him feel...well, it made him feel something. He wasn’t quite sure what the word for it was. He didn’t want to say sad because he didn’t mourn the loss of his career. Nostalgic maybe? Lonely certainly. It would be more difficult to go back to the quiet days of just him and Makkachin now that Yuuri has been around so much. It seemed so much quieter without him mumbling in the kitchen or typing on his laptop. It had been nice to share meals with someone. He would get used to the stillness again he was sure, and he still had his dog and his phone would keep him in contact with the outside world. It would be fine.

Yuuri’s hesitant voice startled him out of his thoughts.  

“Victor, could you come sit here, I need to ask you something.”

Victor flicked one longing glance over his shoulder at the bedroom but sat down anyway, giving all his attention to Yuuri. Yuuri gathered his thoughts and his breath, and spoke.

“This is going to sound strange maybe, and I’m not sure how to ask you, but I very much want to talk about this with you before I leave. I apologize if I am being too intrusive. I feel like I know you better than I did a few days ago, and I was curious…”

Victor felt his breath catch. Was this it? Was Yuuri going to ask about the gala? Or the undeniable attraction between them? Was he going to ask if Victor liked him? Maybe it was about the coaching. Now that he knew Victor spent his days doing nothing he might feel more comfortable asking him to come to Japan to coach him. Or just spend time with him. Was that something he wanted? Could he bring Makkachin?

“Victor - Are you happy?”

That...was not what he thought he was about to hear.

“Excuse me? Am I _happy_?”

“Yes? Maybe that is not the right way to say it. Maybe it would be better to ask how you feel. Are you feeling good about the things you are doing right now? Are you glad that you stopped skating?”

Victor was at a loss for words. This was ridiculous. Of all the things to ask him.

“Why would you ask that? Skating isn’t everything Yuuri. It may seem like it is, but it’s not. I can do other things than skate Yuuri.”

Panic and distress were etched into his companion's features. “I know, Of course you can! I’m sure you can do many things!”

For a second Yuuri looked frustrated - at himself, at the situation, maybe even at Victor. Then he set his features back into that same breathtaking look of determination from the first day. Yuuri looked up into Victor’s eyes and he felt like he was being tried by judge and jury.

“I am sure you _can_ do many things, but you are _not._ You are doing nothing. You are sitting here in your dark apartment and avoiding the world and that is not good. I am worried about you Victor.”

Shock ran through Victor. Not at the forwardness or the rudeness, but at the truth of the statement. It was a thought he had occasionally, but always pushed away. He was taking a break. That was all.

“Is this about me being under my blanket earlier? I was not feeling well. As you know I drank too much last night. It was ill advised and I won’t be doing it again anytime soon. Clearly nothing good ever comes from drinking large amounts of alcohol, _does it Yuuri_?”

He knew the last part came out as a sneer but he couldn’t help himself. How could this man who avoided him for months judge him and find him guilty. What gave him the right?

“This isn’t just about that Victor. I have noticed a lot about you the last few days.”

It seems asking just gave Yuuri permission to start listing off his faults. With each imperfection Yuuri listed Victor could feel his anger growing.

“You don’t eat enough”

“I don’t have too”

“You don’t go outside.”

“So what? I have everything I need here.”

“You don’t speak to anyone.

“No one speaks to me! They know where I am, but have any of them bothered to visit? NO! So why should I.”

“And you seem to sleep until noon or later if no one wakes you up.”

“ _I am allowed to!”_ The words came out hissed between his teeth. “I have woken up early to skate very day of my life for the last twenty years I think I have earned the right to sleep in!”

Victor found that he was standing up, chest heaving as he fought his emotions back. This was unlike him. He never snapped at people. He was known for his composure under stress and in the face of rude fans. He had never even gone off on Yura, who had said terrible things to him many times, seemingly specifically to hurt him.

Yuuri just lived under his skin though.

Victor constantly wanted to impress the man but found himself impressed instead. He wanted to surprise him but could never predict the other man’s reactions. This conversation, which was so far out of the realm of things he expected Yuuri to discuss, was throwing Victor off. He had to get away for a second. Take a breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Collect yourself.

Yuuri, it seemed, was not going to give him that time. He simply continued.

“I think it is more than just taking time off Victor. I think it is more than you realize. It’s hard to explain. I didn’t mean to make you angry. It just when you add it all together...I feel like you might have depression.”

Yuuri was looking at him earnestly, still sitting on the couch. He didn’t look like he was joking. There was no punchline. He was serious.

“Depression? You think I might have depression? What even is that? Isn’t that for people who jump off bridges? I would think I would know if I was so unhappy that I wanted to jump off a bridge Yuuri.”

“It isn’t just for people who want to jump off bridges Victor! People without suicidal tendencies can still have depression. It is a mental illness with many symptoms and affects a significant portion of the population. More specifically it’s a chemical imbalance in your brain that changes your thoughts and behaviors. It’s made worse by not eating and having a bad sleep schedule. I am trying to make you aware of it so that you can fix it and be happy again.”

“Who says I am not happy?!”

“You haven’t said you are. Are you happy Victor?”

Victor’s mind reeled. This was stupid. Of course he was. Mostly.

“Not everyone is happy all of the time Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s features melted into concern.

“Maybe not, but you shouldn’t be sad or detached most of the time either. I don’t know if you are aware of it Victor, but you hardly smile anymore; not like you used too. In your photo’s and your interviews you   

Victor knew he should be listening. He should be hearing out Yuuri’s side of the story and impartially preparing his response. His mind and body had other idea’s though. With horror he heard himself respond defensively and maliciously, hurting Yuuri with his words.

“Oh, you know me so well that you know how often I should smile do you? I should smile for you like I do for the press? Or for the posters you collect. Is that the only version of me you want to see Yuuri? I smiled for you plenty Yuuri and it got me nowhere. So tell me, why should I smile any more for you? What right do you have to opinions on my health?”

During Victor’s attack Yuuri had bundled in on himself, tucked back into the corner of the couch as he stared down at his own hands, which were wringing together. At Victor’s last question he looked up, and in a soft voice said the words that took all anger away from Victor, leaving only the fear and the hurt.

“I...last night...you, you said we were friends. I was trying to be your friend.”

He didn’t apologize, or backtrack, or say anything else. He just looked at Victor with his big brown eyes filled with care and concern.

Victor couldn’t stay in this room. Shame and sadness were threatened to overtake him and he had to move, had to get away from Yuuri so he could work out his own feelings in peace. His bedroom did not feel like much of a sanctuary anymore, not with Yuuri’s words echoing in his head. He was halfway out the door before he realized what this looked like. He hadn’t answered Yuuri, just yelled at him and then left. Taking a step back inside the apartment he looked again at Yuuri, who now had his face buried in his knees in a small ball on the couch. Victor forced words out of his mouth, because Yuuri deserved them.

“I am just going for a walk, to clear my head. Please. Don’t leave. I will be back.”

Yuuri’s head snapped up and he nodded, looking relieved. Victor was glad to know that when he returned the man would still be there.

 

When Victor came back Yuuri was no longer on the couch. He was sitting at the little table in the kitchen, reading something on his laptop. Yuuri jumped up and started to speak but Victor cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Please, do not apologize. I should do that.” Yuuri looked like he wanted to speak, but waited for Victor to say what he had to say.

“I am sorry I belittled our friendship. I do consider you a friend. It’s just hard for me, because I have many fans and very few friends. It was wrong of me to imply that you could not be both. I don’t even actually believe that. I just...I was lashing out because many of the things you were saying were true and I don’t want them to be.”

Yuuri smiled at him gently and Victor felt a large weight lift off his shoulders. Yuuri was not mad at him. Then he felt a warm hand wrap around his and he was being pulled over to the laptop.

“It is my fault, I should have prepared better instead of just being impulsive. Several different places here say that I should have expected irritability or anger when talking to you about this. It is just that you have always been so nice to me I did not think."

Yuuri pointed at something on the screen and was discussing it but Victor was still thinking about the fact that Yuuri had not let go of his hand. It helped him feel grounded in this strange situation.

“There is a list of symptoms here if you would like to look at them. It’s WebM.D., which often makes you think you have cancer, but this list is pretty good.”

Victor looked at the laptop with it’s many tabs open to pages about depression and giant blocks of text and shook his head.

“I trust you to know what you are talking about. How do you know it is depression though? Why not a cold, or a lack of inspiration, or laziness? How do you know that this is worse than how I usually am?”

Yuuri’s hand tightened in his, and Yuuri grew still as he answered.

“Because I have had depression. It was awful and I don’t want you to have to suffer through it. No one should have too. Luckily I was forced to see a doctor after Nationals because I fell too many times, and the doctor diagnosed me.”

“Maybe you are just seeing depression in me because you are looking for it then. I don’t feel like I have depression Yuuri.”

Yuuri bent down and clicked a new window open on the laptop. In big black letters the screen said ‘Goldberg's Depression test’.

“If it helps you could take this test. It is short. The doctor gave something similar to me when I was diagnosed. This one says it was developed by a psychologist. I take it every once in awhile just to check myself, so I trust the score it gives to be somewhat accurate. Would you be willing to try it? If it says you are fine I will stop bothering you about it.”

This was good. He could take this test and prove that Yuuri was just unnecessarily worried. No big deal. Then they could part on good terms. Victor held up their hands, which were still connected.

“I will need my hand to take the test Yuuri.”

The other man yelped and let go quickly, turning red. Victor sat down in front of the computer and inspected the screen. Yuuri moved around to the other side of the counter, possibly to give him privacy.

There was a large chunk of text but his eyes couldn’t seem to focus on it, so he just read the parts that jumped out at him. The words ‘last seven days’ and ‘not a final diagnoses’ were bolded. It seemed each question was a symptom, and you had to choose if that symptom described you on a scale from _‘to a great extent’_ to _‘not at all’_. Ok, no problem.

**Question one: I do everything slowly.**

“Yuuri, this isn’t fair. I do everything slowly because I am on vacation. Already it is making things seem worse than they are!”

Victor received Yuuri’s best disapproving face for his whining.

“It does not ask why you are doing things slowly, only if you are or are not. Let me ask, on your day’s off before did you move slowly?”

Victor thought about it and no, he hadn't. He might have been sore or had an aching knee, but for the most part he had been energetic and excited about his weekend plans, dashing about his apartment, dancing with Makkachin, singing in the shower, running to his appointments. He hadn’t dashed anywhere lately. In spite he chose _‘Partly’_ as his answer.

**My future seems hopeless.**

Certainly not. He just hadn’t thought about it. If he didn’t skate again he could model. For a while at least, until people began to forget who he was. Until his hair thinned too much and his skin began to wrinkle. Coaching was probably not an option, not if the kids would be as ungrateful as Yura. He would probably forget appointments and ask them to do quads before they could do doubles, as Mila had once joked. What else could he do? He looked back at the question. Sure, there were ideas in his head; announcing, fashion critiquing, advisor. The key word was hopeful though. He didn’t feel hopeful or excited by any of it. He took a deep breath and chose _‘a lot’._

He looked up at Yuuri, who was staring at him like like he was waiting for the the ball to drop. It was slightly unnerving.

“Yuuri, why don’t you take the test as well, so I can compare my score to yours. It will give you something to do while I finish.”

Yuuri nodded and pulled out his phone, and Victor moved on the the next question.

**I find it hard to concentrate while I read.**

That one was simple. He hadn’t even been able to read the text at the top of the page.

_‘To a great extent’_

The next few questions ranged from overly dramatic to disturbingly accurate, but Victor answered them honestly.

**All joy and pleasure seem to have disappeared from my life:**

_‘Partly’_

**I find it hard to make decisions.**

_‘A lot’_

**I feel restless and cannot relax.**

_‘Only slightly’_

Hah, take that test!

**I feel tired.**

Well, there goes that.

_'To a great extent’_

**I find it hard to do even trivial things.**

Interesting! What if his difficulty in completing the domestic tasks that Yuuri finished with ease was not because he was useless, but because he was depressed? He could hope, right?

_‘A lot’_

**I have lost interest in things that used to mean a lot to me.**

Something about the way this question was worded made his heart ache. Skating used to mean everything to him. Speaking to his friends had been as essential as breathing. Posting to Instagram had been as important as eating three meals a day. How had he let these things go?

In pain, he answered.

_'To a great extent’_

**I feel sad, depressed and unhappy.**

He could not deny it or make excuses this time. Yuuri said they didn’t matter anyway.

He clicked _‘A lot’_.

Victor looked up at Yuuri again only to find him concentrating on his own test, squinting at his phone. How had Yuuri noticed he was sad when Victor himself had not?

**I feel guilty and deserve to be punished.**

Did he? He had thought that recently but it had always been a joke right? Did jokes count? Unsure, he answered _‘partly’_. He didn’t want to think too hard about that one right now…

**I feel like a failure.**

His stomach dropped to his feet. This one he had thought quite a bit, and not as a joke. Each time had felt like it’s own separate instance, but when he thought over a full week they added up to

_‘a lot’._

He was only on question twelve and he was starting to lose courage. He scrolled to the end to find that it was only eighteen questions. He could do this.

**I feel empty - more dead than alive.**

Holding his fifth gold medal at worlds this year, he had felt empty, mostly because he knew he had no Yuuri to look forward to tango with later that night. Dancing with Yuuri was feeling alive. Skating had begin to feel like being dead.

_‘Partly’_

**My sleep is disturbed: too little, too much or disturbed sleep**.

Wasn’t multiple questions about sleep cheating?

_‘To a great extent’_

**I wonder HOW I could commit suicide.**

Here was something he could say _‘not at all’_  towith confidence. That had to be the worst of the questions, and saying no had to assure him a better score. He wasn’t that bad.

Three more.

**I feel confined and imprisoned.**

This was a tough one. He had felt confined at the skating rink, among his peers who had expectations of him. At home he felt safe and comforted. It was only when he went out that he began to feel like he was expected to behave a certain way for fans. It was only when he thought of talking to Yakov he imagined escaping to the safety of his bed. So yes?  

His hand hovered between _‘partly’_ and ‘quite a lot’, but eventually he went with the first choice. Not all prisons were bad.

**I feel down even when something good happens to me.**

Half a bottle of Vodka spoke for itself. He should have been glad for the time Yuuri spent with him, instead he was only mourning the fact that he would leave.

_‘quite a lot’_

**I have lost or gained weight without being on a diet.**

That was it? This was the last question? His scale was in the other bathroom across the hall so he couldn’t be certain, but he must have lost some muscle and weight with the small amount of food he had been eating and the lack of real exercise. He answered _‘only slightly’._

“All done.”

“How do you feel?”

“Ok, I think. Some of the questions seemed plucked straight out of my thoughts. I didn’t realize how specific the symptoms of depression were. I thought it was just general sadness. Now I’m not so sure. Did you do it as well?”

“Yes. Although his test doesn’t work as well for me because my symptoms are actually from anxiety, not depression.”

“Performance anxiety?”

“Well yes, but also generalized anxiety. I have had it my whole life. I would drop a plate in the kitchen and then cry about it for days. I am very familiar with hiding under blankets and avoiding phone calls. My anxiety is ongoing and the depression comes and goes, made worse by large events.”

“What kind of events?”

Yuuri looked like he did not want to answer. Whatever the memories were, they were bad. Victor was an idiot. How could he force Yuuri to remember something that clearly affected him so much it had made him depressed. What a terrible friend he had been today. It would serve him right if Yuuri didn’t want to talk about his personal problems with Victor.

_I feel guilty and deserve to be punished._

Stupid test.

“Two nights before the Grand Prix last season my dog passed away. I had not seen him for five years while I was in Detroit.”

Victor stood and crossed around the table to hug the lingering traces of Yuuri’s sadness away. He couldn’t imagine if something happened to Makka while he was at a competition. It would break him. He knew she was on her last years and that was part of the reason why he had quit in the first place, was to spend more time with her. He realized now he had done a horrible job of that. She spent most of her time sleeping while he gazed blankly at the tv or slept himself. He had to do better for her.

Victor whistled softly and Makkachin appeared, probably from sleeping in the bedroom. She noticed Yuuri was sad and immediately began to lick his hands. He dropped down on one knee again to hug her, and now that first day made sense. Victor would hug stranger’s dogs too if he didn’t have his darling girl.  
After a moment of stroking Makkachin and mumbling into her fur Yuuri stood and hugged Victor again.

“Thank you, that was exactly what I needed.”

“Of course Yuuri. I am sorry for your loss, and that it caused you to suffer so much.”

A small part of Victor’s mind that was dedicated to keeping tally of such things noted that he now had three hugs to Makkas four. Part of him felt guilty about the count, but the other part thrilled. He didn’t count the cuddling in the bed since that hadn’t been entirely consensual.

He thinks. Maybe it had been. He wished he could remember clearly.

“So, what score did you get on the quiz?” Yuuri asked.

Oh. Yes. The quiz.

“I haven’t hit the calculate button yet. What did you get?

Yuuri looked down at his phone. “It says a twenty-four, but I know that the few questions I answered in the affirmative are anxiety driven, and I spent the week in a foreign country so I am allowing myself some leeway. On a normal week I average twelve to sixteen.”

He looked down at the scale. It ranged from one to fifty four+ with one being not depressed and fifty four+ being severely depressed. Twenty four was minor depression. Twelve was possibly minor but not likely. Yuuri was ok.

Victor had answered the worst questions in the negative, so he certainly wouldn't be in the highest category. Maybe something in the thirties? Only one way to find out. This time he took Yuuri’s hand and pulled him to the laptop so they could find out together.

They held their breaths as the page refreshed, then scrolled back down to the bottom.

 

‘ _You have reached level 55 on the Goldberg scale._

 _You have the symptoms of severe depression_.’

 

That was all he read. The scale was shown at the bottom, with the last category, fifty four+ highlighted. Severe Depression. He hadn’t even said he was suicidal why was the test saying he was severely depressed? A thirty he could have still argued. He didn’t think he could argue his way out of a fifty five.

Yuuri was bent over the laptop, reading the additional text at the bottom. Victor couldn’t understand why he was wasting his time; it wouldn’t say anything that mattered. Victor was apparently severely depressed and no paragraph of text was going to change that. Victor sat on one of the chairs and tried to figure out what happened now. His mind came up blank. All he could think was ‘fifty five is too much’.

Finally Yuuri turned to him, looking relieved. Why would he look relieved?

“That is actually lower than I expected. My first test I got a seventy four. You barely touched the fifties. The test isn’t entirely accurate as well, since you cannot put a numerical value on your feelings. Now that you are aware of your symptoms you can find a good doctor and work on getting better.”

Victor immediately wilted. He had never liked doctors. They would say things like ‘stay off that ankle for two weeks’, or ‘your knees aren't going to last forever Mister Nikiforov, you might want to consider cutting back your hours’. The worst part was that Yakov always listened to them, taking their side over his. The last few years he had fine tuned the art of charming the doctors with a big smile and whatever they wanted to hear so he could leave their office as soon as possible and get back to practice. The last thing he wanted to do was see more doctors. They probably wouldn’t be able to help him anyway.

“Do I have to see a doctor? Can’t I just fix my sleep schedule and eat right and not think negative thoughts?”

Victor had meant it seriously, but Yuuri just grinned and laughed that stupid breathless laugh that Victor loved.

“If it was that easy it wouldn’t be considered a mental health problem. The hard part is that those exact symptoms are what stop you from following through on getting better. You can’t wake up at a normal hour because you are too tired. You can’t make yourself eat because you are not hungry. You can’t stop yourself from thinking negative thoughts. Believe me, I have tried my whole life. The best you can do is recognize them for what they are and try to continue on in spite of them. It is difficult to do alone.”

Victor understood the implication all too well. He was alone. There was no one to help him. He had to pay someone to keep track of him. Pathetic.

“Did you see a doctor Yuuri?”

Yuuri hummed and nodded in affirmation.

“What did the doctor do to help?”

“They told me to see a therapist, which I did not get a chance to do, and gave me some antidepressants. The most helpful thing was having Phichit force me out of bed and boss me around. He was the one who made sure I finished my papers and ate and went outside. I would not have graduated if not for him.”

Victor was glad that Yuuri had a good friend in Phichit. Lucky him.

There was a lull in the conversation while Victor tried to imagine the next few months. He would have to find a doctor that would sign a confidentiality agreement. He would have to find a confidentiality agreement without asking his PR team. Then the doctors would poke at him and chastise him and fill him full of medication and send him home, where he would still be alone. Who was going to bother with him? The hordes of people who had broken down his door to see him the last few weeks? Fifteen year old Yura? His coach who had enough other problems to deal with that he didn’t need Victor’s? Christophe, who would probably tell him to just shake it off and stop being depressed? No. It was better if the only person to know was Yuuri.

“Yuuri, would it be ok if I called you to check in? You seem to know all about this and you could tell me if I am doing well or not.”

The man across from him blushed an entirely new shade of pink this time, a rosy hue that make his eyes sparkle.

“You are always welcome to call me, Victor, but I don’t see why you would have to. I’m sure you will be fine once your team knows what is happening. You probably won’t even need me.”

Victor needed him more in that moment than he had ever felt he needed anything. He needed Yuuri to hold him and tell him that everything was going to be ok, that Victor would survive this and be himself again and succeed at whatever he chose to do with his life. Yuuri was right though. It wasn’t his job to coddle a twenty-seven year old man who should be perfectly capable of helping himself. It was good that Yuuri was so used to being surrounded by love and support that he couldn’t fathom the idea of having to fight alone. Victor was happy for him, and he didn’t want to burden him with his problems. He should just be grateful that Yuuri had noticed he was broken in the first place.

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into Yuuri’s worried eyes.

“Victor, did you hear me?”

“Oh, no sorry, could you repeat yourself? I was distracted.”

“I was going to get some lunch and take Makkachin for a walk, but now I’m worried about you. Do you need anything?”

“For you to not go home to Japan?”

 _Blyad._ He had not meant to say that out loud. That was supposed to be a private thought to hold in his heart and not trouble Yuuri with. He should apologize, pretend he was just joking. Easy.

Yuuri was looking at him with pained eyes and gripping his shoulder tightly. Victor had gone too far with that statement.

They spoke at the same time.

“I’m sorry Yuuri just ignore me. / I don’t want to leave!”

Yuuri didn’t want to leave?

Then again

“Would you really stay for me? / Of course you didn’t mean it nevermind.”

Would they ever be on the same page?

Victor reached up and took Yuuri’s hand off his shoulder, folding it between his own. This was important. Yuuri needed to know how important this was. Victor spoke the words slowly, so they could not be misconstrued.

“Yuuri, I very much want you to stay in Russia to help me through this. You have seen my life, my phone, met my rink mates. I do not want Yakov or Mila or a press team to badger me and baby me and turn it into a story and a hassle. I want _you_ here, as my friend. It would mean everything to me.”

There were so many emotions on Yuuri’s face that Victor couldn’t begin to decipher them all. He wasn’t speaking but he was still holding Victor’s hand, and that was all Victor needed. Just for him to be near.

Eventually, Yuuri seemed to settle on an answer, because his posture turned inward and his hand loosened in Victor’s.

“I want very much to stay and help you, Victor, but I cannot. Forgive me.”

“May I ask why not? Is it the expense? I will pay for your hotel and meals.”

“You can’t do that Victor!”

“I can, easily! Where are you staying?”

“I have been staying at a hostel near the rink, but that isn’t the point. I could never accept money from you. It would be too much, besides I…”

“The hostel! That horrible red brick building on the corner that looks like it is falling apart. That is where you were? How could the JSF sanction that? It’s not safe. There is no security - Yuuri, there are bugs!”

Yuuri ducked his head down even more, and pulled his hand a little farther away. They were only touching fingertips now.

“I chose the hostel because it was cheaper, and I could stay longer. The JSF doesn’t know. I did not want to risk that I might have to leave before I had met you. It wasn’t so bad really, I just took my valuables to the rink with me every day. Detroit wasn’t much better, so I am used to it.”

“If I had known I would have found you somewhere better to stay Yuuri. Even my futon in the studio would be better than that.”

Victor’s brain shorted. He could picture it, Yuuri staying with him. Would he? It was worth a shot. He tried to get the words out smoothly but they jumped out of his mouth haltingly, like they were scared of the fall.

“You could stay here, next time, if you needed to. Not here here, you probably wouldn’t be comfortable with that. _(Or would he? Had it only been a few hours ago they had woken up together?)_ But you could stay across the hall. Come, I’ll show you.”

This time it was Victor taking Yuuri’s hand and pulling him across the room to his spare set of keys and then across the hall. He could hear Yuuri make all kinds of shocked sputtering noises and protests but Victor ignored them. He had to show Yuuri that there were options. He had to show him he was welcome.

When he opened the door for the first time in weeks the smell of hardwood and dust greeted him. It was a good smell that brought back memories of ballet class and eating bagged lunch while sitting in a circle with the other students in the corner of the floor amongst a pile of street shoes, snickering quietly amongst themselves because if you were too loud you would receive a stern glare and a phone-call home about behavior. He had somehow forgotten how happy his studio made him.

This loft was a flipped replica of his apartment. He had bought both at the same time when the building was being built so that he could have the changes he wanted made easily. This apartment had no kitchen, so the entire front room was one large dance studio. Where the stoves and sink would have been was a wall of mirrors and a barre. Since this was the corner of the building the other two walls were floor to ceiling glass and allowed you to dance with the entire city beneath you. During a Grand Jete you could feel that you were truly soaring above it all, even if only for a second.

The bedroom and den were the same as his apartment as well. The front room had a drafting table for costume design and choreography. There was also a futon so his clientele could sit and chat with him during meetings, or for quicks naps on long days. The back room was costume and medal storage. The entire room was just boxes upon boxes to the top.

Victor was still holding Yuuri’s hand, pulling him around the room showing him the sound system, the treadmill and weight bench, and the specialty flooring. He threw open the front room and showed how the futon folded out into a bed. He made sure to point out the private bathroom off to the side, with it’s spa style bathtub.

Yuuri had quieted during the short tour. When Victor ran out of things to show him he turned around to check his friends reaction.

It was not promising.

Yuuri carefully removed his hand from Victor’s, and Victor immediately felt adrift without it. He watched as Yuuri walked around the edges of the studio, running his fingers along the barre until he reached the windows along the back wall. He looked out at the city for a second, then turned back to Victor. There was unmistakable look of despair on his face.

“I would like to stay here. I want to help you. I have responsibilities at home though. To my coach, and my parents. My country expects me to represent them this year and I am not going to fail again. I can’t. Please understand.”

Victor understood. He couldn't just ask Yuuri to uproot everything for no reason other than _“I wish you would never leave."_ His heart still ached, and the idea of going back into his apartment and feeling the loneliness that cloaked every surface was dispiriting, but he understood. He nodded and together they locked up the studio and ended up back in the hallway. They weren’t even making eye contact at this point, when they had been holding hands just a few minutes ago.

“I am going to take Makkachin on that walk and get some food before I have to leave. Do you want me to bring you back anything?”

Victor shook his head.

“No, thank you. I will leave the door open for you.”

“Don’t go back to bed yet Victor. I would like to eat with you.”

“Ok Yuuri. I will wait.”

Since he couldn’t go back to bed Victor decided to use Yuuri’s laptop to try to do some reading about depression. He found that he did better with bullet pointed lists than with large blocks of text. He was making his way through one of the five tabs he had open when there was suddenly a voice behind his ear.

“So does this mean Katsuki was right?”

Victor jumped several feet into the air, pushing his chair back into the blonde behind him and slamming the screen closed. He winced and hoped he didn’t damage Yuuri’s laptop as Yuri Plisetsky griped about how the chair nearly hit his knees.

“Yura! What are you doing here?”

Victor watched as the boy stuck his hands into his pockets and tried to look disinterested in the whole situation.

“I was on my way to the rink since we are allowed in soon, and I tried to text you but you weren’t answering your phone _AGAIN_ , so I thought I would check in and see how you were doing.”

“Why?!”

Yura heaved a heavy sigh, clearly regretting coming over already.

“Because Katsuki went home last night.”

“So?”

“So, I know you have a thing for him, and you weren’t answering your phone, and I don’t know I just thought maybe I should make sure you weren't like, sad, or something, cause he’s gone OK. You were a giant pain last time and I just figured if we cut it off at the pass now you could like move on quicker or whatever.

Victor couldn’t articulate the words for all the ways that speech had made him feel, so instead he engulfed that younger boy in a hug, hoping it conveyed all his thanks and appreciation. It was several seconds longer than usual before Yuri pushed him off, and Victor was grateful for that.

“So, depression huh? What does that mean.”

“I’m not entirely sure yet. I think it means my brain is telling me I am sad and shouldn’t do anything but lay in bed and think about how sad I am. I am supposed to see doctors and therapists and take medication but I don’t know much about it.”

“Yakov is going to be pissed.’”

“Yakov is not going to know.”

“Are you two just never going to talk to each other again? That seems stupid.”

“Maybe I am stupid. I don’t care. I don’t want Yakov to know.”

They lapsed into silence again.

“So Katsuki showed up, told you that you had depression, and then left? That seems pretty shitty if you ask me.”

“I offered to let him stay here in the studio, at no expense. It wasn’t enough.”

Yura’s words were whispered so quietly Victor would have missed them if he hadn't been listening so intently.

“Sorry. That sucks”

“It’s not his job to take care of me. I am glad that someone even bothered to wonder whether I was rotting away dead in here or not. At least I know now. He is really very kind.”

“I guess. He’s not entirely horrible.”

Victor lifted an eyebrow in curiosity. Very few people managed to make it onto Yura’s ‘not entirely horrible’ list.

“Did you and Yuuri have fun the last few days? I heard you skated together.”

The blush that Yura covered up with indignation was too adorable.

“We didn’t skate together! He was showing me how to do...something. He sucked at it, but eventually I got a good video of what I needed.”

The boy thought for a minute, looking down at his shoes which were trying to dig a hole into Victor’s floor.

“I was supposed to help him too, but we didn’t get around to it. Then everyone went out to that lunch and it threw everything off. I feel kinda bad about that. He wasn’t, like, mad or anything was he?”

“How would I know?”

“Please Victor, everyone knew that he went to see you after lunch. It was so obvious.”

Was it? He remembered that photo of Yuuri smiling down at his phone and wondered if maybe it was. Had he said something about skating with Yura that night? Victor tried to remember.

“I think he was more disappointed than mad. He was looking forward to working with you” _and me, but I am not skating right now. I am letting him down._

Victor tried to shake off the negative thoughts. Yuuri had wanted to stay, he just couldn’t. If Victor just held onto that thought it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Hey, where is Makka?”

Just as Yura looked around and began to notice things were out of place, like the backpacks and skate bag by the door, the elevator dinged and Yuuri’s laughter could be heard. The thumping of a dog barreling down the hallway followed and Makkachin appeared and jumped straight into Yuri’s arms, nearly knocking the boy down. Then Yuuri rounded the corner and stood leaned against the doorway, panting and laughing and carrying lunch for them both and he was so gorgeous Victor could cry. Another wave of sadness washed over him and he was glad for once that Yuuri would be leaving in an hour, since it meant Victor could crawl back in bed and wallow in misery that much sooner.

 

Yuuri had thought about a lot on his walk. He thought about ways to get help for Victor while he was in Japan. Ways they could communicate and time zone differences and what it would be like to be talking regularly to Victor Nikiforov. He mind imagined Mari and Yuu-chan teasing him, and his mother asking if that man he was skyping on his computer was the same as the posters. He would have to take down his posters, at least the ones by his bed. Safer to take them all down just in case he had to walk around with the laptop and suddenly revealed a new side of the room.

Mostly he tried to think of ways to stay.

He knew it was a futile exercise. There were people expecting him home. He had routines to practice and he was just getting to distinguish which triplet was which, and his sister appreciated his help moving boxes into and out of storage, and sometimes he helped his parents serve dinner or tally the sales at the end of the night and that was special in itself.

None of that stopped him from thinking of ways to not go back.

He would need money for a place to stay and food.

Unless he stayed with Victor.

Which was preposterous.

He wanted it.

His want was a visceral thing that clawed at his insides and twisted them up. It made him consider being truly selfish; taking instead of giving in a way that made him feel guilty and indulgent all at once.

Stammi vicino, non te ne andare... _Stay close to me, never leave_.

Victor Nikiforov - the invisible mentor that he had been chasing his whole life, his idol that he had strived to be, his friend who needed him - had asked him to stay. It was nearly everything he hadn’t realized he wanted but now couldn’t live without, right at his fingertips.

What would it cost him to reach out and take.

What would it cost him to let go.

His thoughts circled from simple ideas like bringing Victor to Japan with him (where he would be alone all day in a foreign country while Yuuri practiced? That wouldn’t work) to ridiculous proposals like paying Minako to move to Russia to train him here. None of it made any sense.

At some point in his thoughts he made his way to the corner, followed the smell of bread into a small sandwich shop and purchased something, and turned back to go home. He had no doubt that Makkachin was the one doing the navigating.

About a block away from the building he noticed the dog stick her nose to the ground and speed up considerably as she tracked a scent that excited her. The doorman noticed and had the door open before he got there so Makkachin didn’t have to slow down. They were soon in the elevator and she was whining and circling anxiously so he took off the leash and gave her free reign, assuming she knew the way back to her apartment. Sure enough when they reached the top floor and the doors opened she took of like a rocket down the hallway. She must have suddenly missed Victor, and wasn’t that sweet.

He was going to miss Victor too.

He imagined himself running down the hallway excitedly to leap onto Victor the way Makkachin would and the thought made him laugh out loud. He laughed even harder when he saw that the victim of Makkachin’s exuberant love was none other than Yuri Plisetsky. The boy was patiently accepting her affection. Yuuri looked up to find Victor staring at him with that lost expression again.

“I brought sandwiches. I didn’t know you would be here Yuri, or I would have brought you one as well.”

“What the hell are you even doing here still?”

“Aeroflot delayed my flight.”

Yuri honestly smiled, the first time that Yuuri had ever seen him smile. It was a good look for him. He looked younger when he smiled.

“Will you still be here tonight? We are only doing half a day so you and I could work together after practice again! Your salchow still needs work. I didn’t forget.”

The sudden kindness from such an unexpected source nearly overwhelmed Yuuri’s already fragile mental state. This was not the time to think about everything here you would miss. Now was not the time to break down. Save it for the plane.

“I’m sorry Yuri. I leave in forty minutes. I would have loved to work with you again. Some other time perhaps.”

Yuri cursed in Russian while Victor set out the sandwiches and Yuuri packed away his laptop.

It was Victor who made light of the situation.

“Don’t be so sad Yura. I am the only one here allowed to be depressed.”

“I’m not sad! I am angry because now it will be too easy to beat him. It won’t mean anything.”

“Are you so sure of that Yura? Have you found your Agape yet? Can you do all of your allegro without looking tired? How is your footwork? I can promise you that those are things Yuuri will have that you will not if you underestimate your competition. Jumps are not everything. Or do you forget that you won the Junior Worlds without a quad?”

“Yea, well you were supposed to be helping me, not lounging around here being all depressed and useless.”

“You still have Yakov.”

“Yakov barely understands Agape himself, how the fuck is he supposed to help me. You didn’t think of that, did you?”

“So ask him to bring in Lilia. Or ask Mila or Georgi. I tried to help you but you were too busy complaining to listen.”

Victor did not seem upset at the insults, so Yuuri did not interfere. He sat and ate his sandwich despite his churning stomach because he knew he needed the fuel for the flight home. The bickering between the two Russians was almost comforting. He would miss this too.

“URGH! Katuski! You can’t just leave him here like this. He doesn’t even fight back properly. He just takes whatever I say and agrees with it. It’s not fair that you get to go back to your own private rink and we are stuck with him. I would love to have a rink all to myself with no one nagging at me constantly.”

Yuuri smiled indulgently. “I will miss everything here. The weather, the grand buildings, Makkachin, but mostly the skaters. You were all very kind to me. I wish I could stay.”

Plisetsky snorted.

“Thats dumb, you could totally stay. Victor told me you don’t even have to pay for a hotel, you can room here.  So don’t bother saying sorry about a choice _you made_ , it’s a waste of breath.”

Yuuri was taken aback.

“Excuse me? What makes you think I can just stay or go at will?”

“ _You are an adult!_ You can do whatever you want. Only a few more years until I have that freedom, and they won’t be able to keep me here if I don’t want to stay.”

Victor was very carefully not participating in the conversation. His thoughts had already been made known. Yuuri tried to reason with the teen.

“Yuri, I have to go back to my coach and practice my choreography. You did want me to try to win right? A few hours a night with no coach is not good enough for that.”

“Bullshit Katsuki. We have skating rinks every few blocks here. You could use any one, you don’t have to beg for scraps from Yakov. Besides, your coach isn’t even a skater, she’s a dancer so a lot of good she can do teaching you the salchow, or anything technical. You would be better off working with me.”

All three of them sucked in a breath, surprised by Yuri's offer.

“You would still help me with my jumps?” 

The boy ducked his head down and kicked at the ground, shrugging.

“I will help you, you will help Victor, and eventually Victor can help me again. That only works if you stay. Do you actually think he is going to go to the doctor and take his pills and all that without you telling him to? Please. Any other excuses?”

Yuuri couldn’t think of anything. He was sure there were plenty of reasons he should go home, but pinned by two sets of burning eyes, blue and green, he couldn’t come up with a single one.

He did not want to.

“Alright, I will stay.”

He was rewarded with twin looks of surprise. Then Victor was wrapped around him again and all Yuuri could see was the soft grey of cotton. When Victor eventually let him go Yuri P. was typing furiously on his phone.

“I just sent Victor my full schedule. Let me know what you decide with your coach and when and where you want to work. Victor knows all about the rinks in the area and can probably get you a good deal by dropping his name. I have to get to practice.”

“Thank you, Yuri”

“Whatever.”

 

Then Yuri left and it was just him and Victor.

He was going to be staying with Victor. In Russia. With Victor.

Minako was going to kill him. Phichit was going to scream.

“Yuuri, are you ok? You look worried?”

“I was just thinking about what to tell Minako-sensei. She might be tough to convince that this is a good idea for me.”

“You don’t regret it do you? If Yura bullied you into it I understand.”

“No Victor, he was right. I want to stay and I should do what I want. It will be good for all of us.”

“I hope so Yuuri. I know I am happy you are here.”

For the first time today Victor smiled, and all of the difficulties Yuuri was stressing about didn’t seem as important anymore. As long as he could make Victor smile, Yuuri would be content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swore I was going to just wrap this bit up quickly to put you all out of your misery after last chapter. hahahaha yea that didn't happen. Sorry if there are typos Editing 27 pages all by myself is hard. 
> 
> I will cover this eventually, but alcohol is a depressant. It makes the depression worse. Do not drink if you are depressed. (Or do not drink at all)
> 
> As several people thought, yes, Victor going to Japan does make more sense. Yuuri staying in Russia is extra and unnecessary and inconvenient. But the heart wants what the heart wants. At this stage Victor can't go to Japan, he would talk himself out of it. Yuuri doesn't have the moxie needed to force it. I tried to explain, I hope it made sense. Or not. It doesn't have to. Artistic license and all that.
> 
> The Goldberg test is real btw. You can take it here. http://www.netdoctor.co.uk/quizzes/goldbergdepression/  
> Don't let it freak you out though. It is just a test. I had a lot of fun choosing Victor's answers, which aren't even really correct because he fudges some of them, or over exaggerates others. That is why you can't trust the test. I do not recommend this as a diagnostic tool. But Yuuri and Victor have their own way of doing things, and it worked for them.
> 
> For a great Yuuri mourning Vicchan fic, since I know you are all masochists  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/8686882  
> When you have finished reading that read the other two works in the series, which are the actual stories, and then tell the writer to please write more. I am dying for more of that series. Thank you.
> 
> Also if you like the sims I re-created Victor's apartments here  
> https://artdefines06.tumblr.com/post/158531606038/victor-and-yuuri-in-the-sims  
> because I am trash. My tumblrs chill. let's hang out.
> 
> Next up I want to write these one shots to take a break from the main plot and fill in some HC's and time between the banquet of fate and the beginning of this story:  
> The Rise and Fall of #Victophe - The story of Chris and Victor through the years. This will be mostly about Chris and from his POV.  
> Stuck between a Rock and a Numbskull - The first weeks of Yura and Victor working together, from Yuri P's POV.  
> How to Unfuck your Habitat - Cleaning Victor's apartment from Yuuri's POV.  
> Foreign Diplomacy - Yuuri's first days in Russia from Yuuri's POV - mostly panicked calls to phichit and I s2g I'm going to write mila and georgi if its the last thing I do.
> 
> These will be short and cute and funny. No more angst for a while I promise :) Thanks for getting through the hard parts with me, you all are troopers!
> 
> I am participating in a reverse big bang and an auction so don't expect much this month. Here is the deets on those.  
> http://yurionicebigbang.tumblr.com/  
> https://fightbackfic.tumblr.com/
> 
> That's all, see you in the comments!


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